


Believing in yourself almost as much as you doubt

by allollipoppins, SugarSweetest



Series: Everybody loves Yuuri [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Villains, Badass Katsuki Yuuri, Dark Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, everyone is 18+
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allollipoppins/pseuds/allollipoppins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarSweetest/pseuds/SugarSweetest
Summary: There's a fine line between what makes a hero and what makes a villain, and Yuuri Katsuki is dangerously tiptoeing over it. As willing as he is to lend a hand to the ones in need and bring justice to Detroit, his fascination for criminals minds keeps him from succeeding as the city's primary vigilante, and gets him in trouble more often than not ... at least not of the conventional kind.In which Yuuri is a hero who doesn't know where he stands, and the men he fights (and  loves) aren't helping to clear his jugdment.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Ch.11: On Christmas my true love(s) gave to me...





	1. Yuuri/Eros

**Author's Note:**

> I can't tell you what went through our heads here. Liv (SugarSweetest) is the brain behind the Yuuri/Harem blog, the Villain AU and the fanart, I mostly trail after her and take notes and write gibberish.  
> This will be a series of one-shots, as we have yet to come up with a main plot for one big story. But this, like the rating and title, may change in the future.
> 
> Full summary: Yuuri Katsuki's fascination for villains knows no bounds. Ever since childhood, he'd always looked up to them, despite their conflicting actions and Yuuri's longing to help the heroes trying to stop the villains he admires.  
> Years later he's a teacher in a Detroit orphanage by day and a masked vigilante by night, who protects the city with the help of the mysterious Eros, the doppelganger who came out of nowhere during his college days and swore his allegiance to the Japanese man. Known to the locals as the seductive Puppet Master, he captures the eyes of the most powerful villains in no time. But the bonds he shared with each of them are not of the classic nature...  
> So what happens when everyone finds out they’re all playing for the same hero?
> 
> All headcanons can be found at [yuuriharemheadcanons](yuuriharemheadcanons.tumblr.com)  
> [Eros' background and character profile](https://yuuriharemheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/156663482508/eros)  
> [The Villains](villain-au-the-villains)  
> Disclaimer: Neither of us owns Yuri!!! on Ice or its characters (which is funny bc they're all so ooc we might as well have given them a makeover).
> 
> This work was unbeta'ed and might be edited in the future. Crossposted on [my tumblr](as-promised-before-i-bring-you-my-first)
> 
> (Temporary?) Title taken from "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me" by U2.

 

“I thought we’d agreed that you wouldn’t jump from the top of buildings.”

“And I thought we’d agreed that you wouldn’t do that either.”

 

Yuuri has enough strength left to snort at the man’s reply. Trust Eros to sass him half dead on his feet, soaked to the bone and blood gushing from wounds he couldn’t diagnose, hidden under wet leather and lace.

 

“How can you still have enough energy to sass me when you’re the one injured?”

 

Eros shrugged. “I’ve had worse before. That’s  fine by me.”

 

Yuuri repressed the need to scream, unsure whether to be more frustrated or angry at Eros’ carelessness.

 

How had they even come to this?

 

It had happened too fast for him to even register what was going on. One moment he was battling his opponent, edging closer to a side of the roof he couldn’t see, and the other Yuuri couldn’t feel the ground under his feet nor air in his lungs. He barely had time to register he was falling before a pair of arms wrapped around him, holding him in a tight grip, swiftly rotating him so he wasn’t facing the sky anymore.

 

The next second, they were colliding with the ground, Eros landing on his back and Yuuri somehow getting away with scratches on his side and possibly his face. He wondered briefly how he would explain those to Celestino on Monday morning.

 

And then he registered blood was oozing from under Eros’ head, and his mind went blank.

 

They stumbled inside the apartment, dragging each other’s weight until they both crashed in the living room, landing on the couch.

 

Yuuri raised himself with difficulty, leaning over Eros who had closed his eyes and looked a shade paler than usual. The bleeding had stopped, but Yuuri still worried given Eros’ complexion.

 

“Wait here, will you? I’ll go get us some towels and bandages”. Eros grunted affirmatively. Yuuri made his way to the bathroom – not without stealing a few glances back at Eros to make sure he was alright. He probably wouldn’t go anywhere given his state, but Yuuri wouldn’t start betting on that too soon. Months spent in his company didn’t make Eros any less unpredictable.

 

Yuuri groped blindly at the wall, reaching for the switch with only his knowledge of the apartment as a counterpart for his lack of contacts or glasses. The sudden light made him squint, its sharp glare almost made him trip backwards. Slowly coming back to his senses, he set out to find th necessary equipment.

In his quest to the bathroom to find towels for both of them and his medical kit, the mirror sent back his disfigured reflection. Despite his lack of contacts, the blurry patches of dirty white meddled with runny crimson and black lines were enough to guess he looked like a mess. Yuuri might as well have auditioned for Pennywise the clown in his current attire and gotten the part. Thankfully, no one had been around to witness the pair he and Eros made on their way back home. At least he hoped so.

 

“Christ” he swore, taking in his full appearance. If Georgi could see him now, he’d be getting a tongue lashing just for getting his makeup ruined, nevermind the costumes.

 

That could wait though. For the timebeing, Eros was his priority.

 

Eros waited for him slumped on the floor, visibly too tired to pull himself back up on the couch. At the sight of his rather miserable-looking companion half drowsing and wetting the carpet, Yuuri sighed. He debated whether he should leave the man on the floor right where he was or move him. Ultimately he settled on the latter, placed the towels on the low table in front of him and bent up to his companion’s level.

 

“Let’s move you, yeah? You’re wetting the living room”.

 

Eros finally opened his eyes, sluggishly batting his eyelashes and glancing up at the sound of Yuuri’s voice. Yuuri tried to smile at him, but only managed to grimace.

 

“Sorry. I must be a fright.”

 

“It’s no problem”, Eros muttered in a sleepy voice.

 

“Let me see your wounds.” Without further prompting, Yuuri proceeded to unzip his costume. Eros complied easily and left his master to work, sitting still. Out of context, Yuuri would probably have laughed out loud at the strangeness of their predicament. As a general rule – if “rule” was even the right term –,  Yuuri never laid his hands on Eros or made a move to remove his clothes. Eros always took the lead for him. To have the situation reversed usually brought unease; as bold as Yuuri could be at times, he’d found that he prefered it when Eros took initiatives by himself when they were alone, intimately speaking.

 

When he managed to completely peel the wet leather off Eros, taking time to remove it without inflicting further damage, he took in the extent of Eros’ wounds. He had scrapes running along his back, thankfully not profound enough to need stitches, but visible enough to tell he would need to be thoroughly bandaged. Eros would have scars, but like any previous injury he’d sustained, they wouldn’t last long.

 

Yuuri’s eyes drifted to his sides. While he had expected at least a few marks, the skin was bare and untainted. Turned out Eros had naturally started his healing process long ago, probably straight after they’d landed on the pavement. The rest of him was just fine, he assessed. Still, for a second he thought of reaching out and brushing his fingers against Eros’ skin, just in case. One could only be so superhuman for long. He’d find the sore spots to nurse, visible bruises and hidden places he would only need to press lightly in order to elicit a reaction from Eros.

 

Yuuri shook his head, mentally cursing himself for getting distracted in such a moment.

 

He started to clean Eros, lightly wiping away water and sweat with the towels, and then wrapping it around his shoulders. He then dropped some drops of disinfectant on the cotton balls, and proceeded to treat his back wounds. Upon feeling the sting against his back, Eros jumped forward, stepping as far away from Yuuri’s hand as he could.

 

“Behave,” Yuuri growled without much bite, too tired to properly chastise Eros.

 

Eros moaned a little, but made no further complaint, probably sensing his master’s weariness. He sat back down, and gritted his teeth against the renewed burn of alcohol on his open wounds. Yuuri tried to dab them as carefully as possible, noticing how hard Eros was fighting not to fidget under the cotton balls.

 

This is new, he mused silently as he put the cotton balls away and reached for the burn ointment inside his box, pouring some on the tip of his finger. Eros didn’t use to be so sensitive to touch. When he touched Eros again, this time making direct contact with his skin without fabric between their skins, he could physically sense the other man tensing under his fingers, but making an effort to  repress his discomfort. There was no heartbeat under his fingers.

 

How strange, really. Up to now, Yuuri had only thought of Eros as this otherwordly, superhuman being incapable of feeling even the smallest human emotion, whether it be physical or psychological. At least he’d thought as much the first time they officially met – the image of a reckless hunter, face devoid of expression haunted Yuuri during the last semester of his first year in Detroit. A nameless monster who wore his face and carried himself with enough grace to make a kill look like a work of art.

 

This first encounter left Yuuri beyond shaken. It later took a panicked call to Japan to get direct confirmation from his cheery, though confused mother to conclude that Yuuri was – and remained – to this day their only son and the sole sibling of Mari Katsuki. Not a single twin in the picture.

 

Besides, the odds of him encountering someone who shared his features were rather low. Hypothetically, six to seven people had a face similar to his somewhere on the planet. But still – finding such a person in Detroit, the very city where he had lived for the past months and struggled to find himself. The then freshman’s wild brain went overdrive, making him shudder at the idea that such a person could potentially be from an entirely different world.

 

The meetings that followed, official presentations and all did little to ease his mind. More often than not, Yuuri found himself unwillingly running into his doppelganger – or were these chance meetings purely coincidences? And further examination later, Yuuri decided that there was no way Eros and him were even remotely alike. While the similarity between their faces remained undeniable, Eros lacked Yuuri’s soft features and curves. His soft skin stretched on slender limbs, no hint of fat visible, highlighting the proeminent cheekbones and shapely figure that contrasted with Yuuri’s hourglass body and round cheeks.

 

Differences didn’t stop there. One could also point out the striking contrast between both of their personalities. Where Yuuri was shy and tended to be very expressive, Eros was the king of bitch faces. His stiffness and lack of response to any situation had initially frightened Yuuri. But somehow the sociopath’s cold demeanour peeled away whenever the other was present – or at least he tried. Having a non-existent social life made Eros less empathetic to people’s feelings (not that he actually met any), and yet he and Yuuri shared a connection that went beyond words.

 

He supposed it might have truly begun when he baptized Eros. And Lord, giving Eros a name before finally settling on his current one had proved to be tedious, if only because he sounded strangely adamant on being treated like a slave.

 

“Dog” sounded like an insult, and a personal offence towards Vicchan. “Puppet” gave Yuuri a guilty conscience. As his interactions with the doppelganger became more frequent, so did his hyperactivity. The tranquility he usually seeked in his apartment after a long day at work was quickly shattered by an excited Eros, who didn’t miss a chance to jump on him whenever he came back home. This, combined with the blinding smile he reserved for Yuuri, had instantly reminded him of a puppy. So he settled on”Pup”, or “Pet” whenever the mood was appropriate.

 

As for Eros, it took Yuuri some more reflection, and a college assignment on the theme of love. He’d found something exciting in the nameback then; and as such, it could only fit the man who now bore it. In his eyes, Eros mirrored his divine counterpart: he oozed sexuality from head to toe, and was a walking contradiction; a man capable of the best and the worst, both in life and in his bed, the offspring of Love and War that never quite leaned towards a side of the battlefield nor stood in the middle. Eros was an endless maze of grey closing onto Yuuri by the minute, as he tried to escape his clutches while knowing he’d get caught anyway.

 

Eros knew him well – too well in fact. It both unnerved and comforted him to know that someone out there was able to see past his half-hearted reassurances and cold facade. Yuuri couldn’t remember the last time he had opened up to someone like that. With Yuuko busy with her triplets and his own family taking care of the onsen back in Hasetsu, the only impression left was that if he tried to break through their tranquility he would shatter everything; bring back unwanted memories and unnecessarily worry them over matters that were truly obsolete and exagerrated. Thinking out loud, feigning to talk with Vicchan when his beloved companion probably didn’t get a word of what he said didn’t ease his troubles either. They opened old wounds that sent him back to his childhood home in Hasetsu, blindly staring back at the stranger whose poster he’d just disfigured in the darkness.

 

And yet…

 

Somewhere in time, at a moment he couldn’t exactly pinpoint, Eros has turned into a permanent fixture. Now that they had settled in a routine, life without Eros seemed unconceivable. Yuuri had given in to him reluctantly at first, attributing it to nerves and an unconscious need for closeness that he had repressed for so long since his arrival in Detroit.

 

Eros held many of Yuuri’s firsts. First real friend, first comfortable conversations, first kiss, first touches…only to name a few.

With Eros by his side, he somehow became more self-assured. In the beginning of their partnership of sorts, with Yuuri slowly making his own assertiveness as a vigilante, the “clone” complimented his appearance, deciding that his master’s chubby parts went well with his disguise. Put in that way, generally with lackluster words and a stoic expression, Yuuri was offended the first times. He was past his teenage self-consciousness, but being reminded that he wasn’t as thin as he desired remained a sensible point. Eros had only grown better with time, and Yuuri had become bolder.

 

“Good boy,” he cooed softly, caressing the other man’s cheek in reward for his good behaviour. This development had come as a surprise as well. While Eros had rapidly taken to Yuuri like a fish to water, Yuuri had needed more time to get used to the other man’s presence in his life.

 

Not that Eros had helped in any way. From their first official meeting, his shadow called him by other names than his own, generally “Master” or “My king” among many terms of… endearment.

 

Eros leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering and drooping slightly. He often reminded the Japanese man of an animal, more of a feline nature than a canine one like his Vicchan; Yuuri wouldn’t be surprised if Eros suddenly decided to purr in response to his ministrations.

 

“Let’s move you to the bed, shall we? You must be tired after today.”

 

“’M not tired,” Eros muttered against his hand, but there was no mistaking the tiredness in his voice. Yuuri merely smiled tenderly at him as he placed one arm under his knees and the other under his arms, and lifted him. Eros laid his head on his shoulder, glancing up at him with a similar smile on his face, albeit strained from the hectic day. Yuuri held his eyes until they reached the master bedroom, and moved his arm slightly so to move the covers, and place Eros delicately on the mattress. The latter automatically latched onto the pillow under his head, burying himself under the duvet and rolling into fetal position. Yuuri chuckled lowly. Yep, definitely a feline.

 

He was on his way back to the living room to grab a towel to dry himself, but felt something tug at his sleeve.

 

Yuuri turned. Eros had grabbed him by the tip of his fingers, and was now looking up at him with an almst pleading way. “Will you hold me, Yuuri?” Eros whispered almost inaudibly to Yuuri in his sleepy state, but he was close enough to hear him.

 

Yuuri exhaled. He desperately needed to get out of his wet clothes, and into a warm shower, but he was practically too tired to function properly, and the sight of Eros in such a dishevelled state was too endearing to ignore. He must have been truly drained if he could only call him by his real name.

 

Yuuri sighed, defeated from a battle he wouldn’t have won anyway. He pulled himself out of his shirt and pants, only keeping his boxers on, and slipped under the warm covers.

“As if you needed to ask,” he whispered back, rolling towards the warmth of his bed partner who instantly wrapped his arms around him, head pressed where Yuuri’s heart was. He pressed a small kiss on the top of Eros’ head, inhaling the scent of rain and their shared shampoo, and let himself drift to sleep alongside his companion.


	2. Eros vs. The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yuuri is away, the villains will play.  
> Or: Eros is held captive and has some quality time with the other villains.  
> Warning: kinda nsfw talk at the end of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also titled: Very bad attempt at humor, dialogue, and dirty talk (I'm ace and have never written smut in my life, don't judge me).  
> This chapter was supposed to be finished like two weeks ago, guys I really don't know what happened. And I apologize on behalf of the butchered ending (or everything) and my English, which isn't my first language.  
> This chapter is dedicated to SugarSweetest, Sinnamon Roll™.

"Guys, I think he's waking up."

 

Eros grunts in the direction of where he supposes the intruding voice is, still subconsciously clinging onto what's left of his dream. He doesn't want to leave – not now, not ever if that were up to him. He wills the mental image of Yuuri holding onto him in a gentle, yet firm embrace not to fade away so soon. They had only spent so little time together…

 

“Come on Eros, don't leave a guy waiting, will you?”

 

He frowns. Whoever is trying to reach him right now is clearly adamant on seeing him immediately. But he forces himself to ignore the dulcet tones taking him further away from his beloved master. Why can't they see he's busy right now?

 

“Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty~”

 

Eros freezes. In the blink of an eye, the vision of a sweetly smiling and loving Yuuri looking up at him fades, blown away like petals scattered by the wind. The darkness closing onto him takes a warm, blooming shade of red right under the place where his eyelids meet and let the light filter.

 

“There you go, he's finally waking up.”

 

It doesn't take him long to identify the owner of the cheery, sugar-coated voice ringing in his ears. Unlike the previous one it does, however, carry a slightly different lilt. Oh God, don't tell him that –

 

Because of the tilted position his head had adopted during his sleep, his eyes are first presented with the sight of the room he currently is in – and Eros is promptly blinded.

 

From what his still dormant brain can tell, the room is quite majestic. A living room of opulant interior with the walls and ceiling streaked in black, gold and bronze, the decorations equally lavish and mostly consisting of paintings – at first glance, overpriced portraits of people Eros barely recognizes and, honestly, can't bring himself to care much about. The sleek, mahogany table and accompanying furniture he catches on the corner of his eye is equally ornate.

 

In other words, the entire decoration of the room screams Victor Nikiforov if he doesn't know any better.

 

The fact that he can tell who this place belongs to with only one glance is, frankly, a little disturbing.

 

"Are you going to keep ignoring us or what, asshole?"

 

Oh, wonderful.

 

As his vision slowly comes back into focus, he brings himself to face whoever is in front of him.

 

He recognizes the three figures standing in front of him in seconds, though he doesn't need to see to _know_ on the first hand.

 

Victor, thank the gods, doesn't blind him more with his current choice of outfit, but the wide, heart-shaped (and very much fake) smile he shoots him is enough to make Eros want to puke. At least he had the decency of not clashing with the decoration with his black and magenta costume.

 

The other Russian in the room, Yuri stands by his side, lips pursed and glowering at Eros like he's swallowed a fly or something equally disgusting. A clear contrast with the angelic, fragile vision in white and silver he would pass for with his fairy costume. Though Eros doesn't trust the long titanium nails protuding from his gloves any more than he trusts Yuri's usual aura.

 

Chris, on the other hand, is the only one in the trio who looks remotely pleased by his presence – but then again, he was talking about Chris; he doubted the man dressed in a lacy, black and red apparel scandalously similar to his own could ever arbor any truly ill feeling towards anyone in existence.

 

Eros puffs, the corners of his lips twtching into a barely visible smirk. Trust these three idiots to disturb his peace.

 

“Hello boys," he greets the group in a sultry, yet clearly bored voice. "What a displeasure to see you.”

 

Yuri scoffs, rolling his eyes at the obvious disdain. Chris chuckles lightly.

 

“Likewise, Morticia Addams.”

 

Eros has to turn his head back to find the new speaker. Phichit enters his vision, looking positively regal in his red and golden ringmaster uniform. Despite the cheery tone and cheek-to-cheek smile, Eros knew for a fact that the Thai perfomer wasn't too happy to be there. Minami, who stood slightly away from him donned in glittery black and gold, shared a similar expression of annoyance, though his gave him a puppy-like face.

 

“Phichit. And the chicken nugget. Good to join us too.”

 

From the slight surprise that briefly crosses his features, Eros can tell Phichit is taken aback to not being graced with one of his nicknames. Minami, used as he is to his antics, doesn't react much, but still pouts a little. Both men take steps forward to join the other three in front of Eros.

 

“If it isn't the Fabulous Five.” He sighs. Eros could take them all on any day, but right now he's not particularly in the mood for small talk. “And to what do I owe the honor?”

 

“Can't we just have a nice, quiet party with our greatest nemesis in town?”

 

Eros raises an eyebrow at Victor. “I think you're mistaking me for someone else there, if you know what I mean. Besides, I don't remember being invited.”

 

The silver-haired Russian lights up. “You weren't, as a matter of fact. We were planning on having Yuuri come over, but since we couldn't find him, we were wondering…”

 

“He's not here at the moment if that's what you want to know, fake blond,” Eros drily replies.

 

Victor's face visibly fell. Eros had to repress the need to laugh in his face as he sulked in a corner. Gosh it was so satisfying to see the Russian look crestfallen like that, a look which the rest of the room also appeared to share.

 

“But – but where is he then?” Minami stutters, as affected as everyone else at the news of Yuuri's absence.

 

“He's in Japan visiting his family, something about the onsen if I remember well”, Phichit helpfully supplies at the same time Eros snaps “None of your business”.

 

All eyes divert from Eros and turn towards the brunette.

 

“Hold on a sec,” Yuri starts.

 

“How come you – ” Chris follows.

 

“Of all people – ” Victor quips.

 

“Know where he is?” Minami squeaks.

 

Phichit shrugs. “I'm his best friend, he tells me everything.”

 

His declaration has the effect of a mini bomb amid the group, with everyone suddenly lashing at each other in a flurry of colorful words and threats of bodily harm.

 

Eros sighs in exasperation. This is going to be long? “Boys, please, behave. Don't make me spank you.”

 

His intervention stops them on their tracks and they part, not without throwing sharp glares at each other.

 

“Alright, anyway whose brillant idea was it to throw this party? My bet is on Victor, for obvious reasons, but I'm sure Chris had some kind of say in it.”

 

Instead of denunciating each other and causing World War III like he expected them to, his five kidnappers glance at each other – but not, he notes, in an accusatorial way. The looks they send from side to side are rather … apprehensive? From where he sits, it's blatantly obvious the quintet is wordlessly sharing something Eros fails to understand.

 

Dread pools into his stomach – not that he would ever admit or show it.

 

It is when they finally end their telepathic connection that their eyes settle on Eros once again, and it finally dawns on him.

 

“Wait, is this an intervention? Did you guys plan this together?”

 

“You could say that, yeah.”

 

“Not that any of us had a real choice in the first place, though”, Yuri grumbles, in spite of not looking the least bit inconvenienced. But this isn't what shocks Eros the most.

 

“Team work to babysit me? That's a first.”

 

“There's no need to sound so surprised" Phichit grumbles.

 

“On the contrary, there's every reason to. Thought you had no conception of group work. But I can't blame you on that matter, I've never been very fond of teams myself.”

 

“You're contradicting yourself there.” Yuri points out, unimpressed.

 

Eros shrugs. “How so?”

 

“Uh, remind us again who exactly works with Katsudon to defeat us on a regular basis?”

 

“Yuuri isn't most people, I don't think there's a need for comparisons when it comes to him. Days like these I tend to forget that he's just human, like the rest of you. Just saying that disgusts me.”

 

“Such affection, I'm melting.”

 

“I don't expect you to understand. After all, you humans are just walking lumps of skin and bones who think with their reproductive systems three quarters of the time, and put yourselves above everything and anything just because you “can”. And just so you know, I mean every offense, before one of you dares to contradict me.”

 

“Hard to tell,” Minami muses. “You do sound very partial with some of us sometimes.”

 

Eros snorts at the implication. “I'll have you know I hate everyone equally. This way, I don't discriminate anyone.”

 

Victor sniggers. “Bitch please, we all know you prefer Chris out of all of us.”

 

“Like I said before in case you weren't listening, I don't”, the brunette calmly retorts.

 

Minani snorts, nose upturned as if the very idea was unconceivable. Eros' stare immediately latches onto him, grin pressed into a thin line.

 

“What is it, you got a problem with that, puppy?”

 

Minami somehow has the guts to stare back, fists clenched in an attempt to contain his anger and frustration.

 

“What if I do?”

 

“Aww,” Eros whines in a mocked imitation of the young Japanese man's voice. “How cute, my sweet Minami dares to answer me!” His pout morphs into a predatorial sneer. “Keep that attitude up and I'll have to slit your throat, young man.”

 

“Hey,” Chris interjects, “leave the kid alone.”

 

“Oh, so now you're defending him? Interesting.”

 

"Crazy, right?" Victor quirps. "Turns out we bond easily once we start talking about our favorite subject."

 

“Which is?” Eros enquired. “Wrecking havoc? Being general failures in life? Useless kidnappings?”

 

Phichit snorts. The lazy smile making its way on his lips doesn't please Eros in the least. “I thought it would be more obvious”.

 

"You'll have to be clearer than that, I'm afraid." Eros shoots back in a sweeter tone, playing by their rules.

 

The five humans share another meaningful look, one that expands from the few seconds they took beforehand and as Eros finds himself losing his patience with each passing second, they abruptly turn back to him in a single, unwavering voice.

 

“Yuuri.”

 

Eros blinks.

 

Once.

 

Twice.

 

He sinks his teeth into his tongue, waiting for the familiar burn of sinking into flesh to pull him back to reality.

 

It is when when his teeth are biting down sharply enough to draw blood in the back of his throat that he realizes that the masquerade is not a dream. He finds that the strong, bubbling desire to laugh that had been building in his stomach since the beginning won't rise up.

 

“Come again?” Eros starts, voice cautiously kept low and as neutral as possible.

 

“I believe that you heard just right, Eros.” Chris sounds far more serious than what Eros is used to hearing coming from this particular person. Now if that isn't worrisome...

 

Yuri takes it upon himself to continue on his trail of thought. “As you will come to understand, the sole purpose of this gathering is to get as much material about Yuuri Katsuki as we can.”

 

“Though it remains common knowledge that you're to be the least trusted in this particular field, we stand firm that you should also be the best in this sense,” Minami also has to concede.

 

“Add to this the fact that you technically are on our side rather than his, and it turns out that we may reach an agreement between the six of us,” Phichit follows.

 

“Cue the present league of which we are hosting the first reunion today, in my humble estate” Victor concludes.

 

“So if I follow”, Eros recaps, “you broke into my house, drugged me, dragged me to this shithole in the middle of nowhere and bound me because… you want information about Yuuri?”

 

They all nod by a mutual, unspoken agreement that leaves Eros bewildered.

 

“Okay, what's this then?” he spouts, “the Katsuki Yuuri Seduction Squad?”

 

“Oooooh, nice name! Let me write it down.” Victor frantically digs in his pocket and retrieves an honest-to-god poodle-covered notepad and an assorted pen he uncaps to write down the lousy title. To his horror, the others seem to agree with equal fervor, except maybe for Yuri who mutters something akin to “this is absurd” under his breath but doesn't disagree overall.

 

As his current predicament prevents him from facepalming, Eros settles on rolling his eyes and groaning. Of course these idiots would come up with something this ridiculous.

 

“You guys do realize you're being absolutely bonkers, right? What's next, bursting on his doorstep buck naked with only a collar and a “bite me” tag?”

 

Eros pointedly directs the question at Chris, who raises his hands in mock surrender. Before he can defend himself, Eros retorts:

 

"Chris, you're always in a certain state of nakedness, don't even think of denying it. So much, that I've come to the point where you in clothes is an anomaly."

 

“Now, now, let's not go there.” Chris shakes his head, as if trying to dissipate the growing tension in the room. “Surely you can spare a friend a tip or two?”

 

“I'm not your friend, Christophe, for the last time” Eros snarls back.

 

“Oh please! Help a man out, Eros.” Phichit whines, leaning against the table behind him.

 

“Help a man out?” Eros blurts incredulously. “Help _you_ out? I'll tell you what I should do. I should rip your tongues out of your mouths with my teeth for ever suggesting such a ridiculous idea in the first place, and making me suffer through it” he hisses. “Give me a single reason why I shouldn't kill you on the spot this instant.”

 

“Because we took the necessary precautions.” Minami beams.

 

"Look down, genius, and you'll understand better." Yuri adds, jutting his chin towards where Eros' hands are for good measure.

 

He does – and realizes for the first time since waking up inside the living room that he's handcuffed to the chair he's currently sitting in.

 

“Oh come on,” Eros moans, “are you fucking kidding me?”

 

Eros pulls at the handcuffs wrapped around his wrists. Surprisingly enough, the material weights more than he initially imagined it to be. Not that he's accustomed to wearing them, on the contrary. While he entertained the idea every now and then, he'd never put it up to practice. And no matter how forcefully he tries to loosen their grip on his wrist, they don't budge.

 

“And of course if you resist, we can always get to more hands-on methods,” Phichit mentions in a way that he supposes should come across as offhandedly, if the way he looks around the room in a pensive manner is anything to go by.

 

“With hands like yours? Careful there, I'd hate for your henchmen to have to come kiss and bandage them.”

 

Phichit's smile freezes on his face, teeth bared.

 

“Again, I see, but why should I lend you a hand? How do I know you won't use my information to win his trust before you stab him in the back?”

 

“Please”, Victor clicks his tongue, catching Eros' attention, “that's very low, especially coming from you.”

 

“I'm under the impression that you don't understand what our partnership actually consists in.”

 

“Oh, really” Minami taunts.

 

“Do enlighten us then, ” Yuri supplies, hands on his hips and leaning slightly forward. “Why does he even need you, in the first place? It's not like you're of much help trying to catch us.”

 

“My Yuuri is a lot of things. Weak isn't one of them. I'm insulted that you should think so” Eros backlashed in a threateningly calm tone.

 

“You know that's not what I meant, you conniving bastard!”

 

His patience and their own is starting to waver, but somehow this conversation has turned out to be... strangely entertaining? But then this could go on forever, and as much as he'd like it to end, wheels start turning in his head as his palms close onto the polished armchairs. Maybe this could be fun, after all.

 

He's going to positively wreck them.

 

For the moment he allows himself to settle back into the seat, relishing in the comfort of the cushioned splat and his companions' barely contained surprise and sudden interest. He braces himself, inhaling deeply.

 

“Where should I start?” He hums, purses his lips in the imitation of reflection.

 

“Wait...” Victor begins, “so you're actually willing to contribute to the discussion?”

 

Eros shrugs. “In a sense. While the regroupment itself holds no appeal whatsoever in my opinion, I understand why you should prefer Yuuri over me.”

 

“It was never a question of preferences in the first place.”

 

“I beg to differ. So,” Eros straightens in his seat, “do you want information on Yuuri or not?”

 

Phichit waves his hand in agreement. “Well, it can't hurt, I guess.”

 

Eros conceals his growing smirk as best as he can manage. Hook, line, sinker.

 

“The beginning would be nice.”

 

He reclines in his seat, thinking about what … . “The least I can do is explain how this relationship works.”

 

“You see", he begins, "the thing about puppets is that most people already have a label for them. It doesn't matter how many a puppeteer has or how interchangeable they make them, how hard they try to fit them in categories like Italian actors. In the end it all comes down to the same perception.”

 

“Because, you ask me, what's a puppet without its master? Just an empty shell, a poor excuse of a human being. Most people expect us henchmen to be weaklings, and yet they never once stop to wonder what it says about them to take advantage of us at will. But in truth it takes as much effort to lead a marionnette as it does to live your own life."

 

"Wait," ... Yuri interrupts before Eros can go any further in his explanation. "How does Katsudon fit in there?"

 

"I was coming to it," Eros answers in a calm intonation that lacks bite at being interrupted, which is a little worrying.

 

"As things go, masters are always fully relying on their puppet when they set to work, both to get it done and be done altogether. I believe you of all people can understand it best, Phichit." The jab goes overlooked, though the Thai ringmaster isn't so sure he can wholly agree with his best friend's shadow at this point.

 

"We aren't just empty skins to be filled and toyed with – we're mediators of life. And this goes both ways. While the puppeteer gives life to the puppet, the puppet also demands to be handled in a certain way. Some put it that way: “You don’t move it, you let it move, that’s the art”. My relationship with Yuuri, however, differs from the conventional in the sense that while I may need Yuuri's guidance, I'm capable of moving of my own accord. I'm neither man nor woman, neither human nor extraterrestrial. As a puppet, I'm not subject to any human law or need. Unlike you.”

 

"But," he relents, "the fact remains that I truly _am_ nothing without him, and Yuuri needs me."

 

Eros gazes upon the room to find every eye on him, hanging onto his every word. Finding them still captivated, he continues. “A woman once wisely said: _“He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”_ Great quotes, but questionable taste in gothic literature. But we're going off topic here. The point being that out of everyone in this room, I remain the only one who knows him fully well. If you think for one second that any of you is better than me, then let me tell you: you are abso – fucking – lutely wrong” Eros hisses, lips twisting on every syllable.

 

The five villains stiffen, barely trying to hide their displeasure at the raven's words.

 

"You humans," Eros snarls, "always thinking you pull the reins when you're just begging to be controlled. Do you think I miss the way you try – miserably so – to take my Yuuri away from me? How you try to imprint your marks on him when we all know firmly well it will never happen? Believe me, were it in my power I'd call you each and every single one of you a whore openly, but I've been told that judging people based on the regularity and diversity of their sexual activities was degrading, and as efficient as insulting one's mother.”

 

“Are you talking out of experience?” Minami, who'd been mostly silent during the whole ordeal, perks up a little at the anecdote.

 

“You don't want to know, okay? Just trust me on this” Eros snaps back.

 

The suggestion beneath the words dawns upon the group as they audibly wince. No one's envying him on this point.

 

“And on second thought, you do have a point. I'm no better than you in this respect. Call yourselves as faithful to Yuuri as you want, we all know you take every occasion at hand to jump me.”

 

"In your dreams, asshole."

 

"I don't know," Eros muses in a faraway tone, "you do always seem pretty eager to touch me whenever I drop by."

 

Penny in the air...

 

“Wait” “Hold on a second” “You don't mean that...” they all start together.

 

The men present finally dare to look him in the eye. Eros stares back defiantly, smirk slowly forming across his lips. Their own expressions fall.

 

And the penny drops.

 

An awkward silence settles in the living room, as the five males simultaneously come to the conclusion that after all this time, following months of a neverending cat-and-mouse game, the one person they'd been sleeping with all along, outside of heated confrontations with Yuuri, was actually Eros all along.

 

They avoid meeting his eyes, keeping their head low or glancing at everything and anything but him. Though they never lock gazes with him, Eros knows what is going on in their minds. He catches glimpses of remnant memories in their eyes; shadows of furtive, stolen moments on a bar counter, an empty basement or any other seedy place. Unrequited desires that they had thought to be consummating with another.

 

“Anyway, back on topic. I suggest you keep your traps shut for one second and hear me out. I don't care if you think Yuuri is some kind of goodie-two-shoes who belongs anywhere outside of the battlefield, and I don't care about what you think of my methods or the way they influence him. But if there's one thing I can assure you, is that he's not innocent. At least not in the way you presume true.”

 

“Yuuri is as rotten to the core as any of you, if not more. Hell, for what it's worth, he's probably worse than me, and that's saying a lot.”

 

“ And since we're on this topic, let's just be downright honest with each other: what you need to stick in these cavemen brains of yours is that he's had enough. Of you, of people treating him like his heart is made of glass. In fact, he'd throw you away like trash without a second thought if he were aware you gave him gentleness for the sake of innocence.

 

“He lost it ages ago, long before he met me.” The men present could have sworn Eros' voice carried underlying sadness, barely perceptible under his dry tone. Yet any potential pretense of emotion shattered as he stared them down again with finality.

 

“And trust me,” he paused for better effect, “he's not getting it back anytime soon.”

 

The silence hanging around him is would be suffocating if he were troubled at all, relishing their confused and slightly bewildered expressions after his rant.

 

Victor finally decides to break the uncomfortable stillness. "I don't believe you."

 

He expected as much from Minami or Phichit, but from Victor? He's a little intrigued. "Beg pardon?"

 

"I said I don't believe you, Eros. I mean, how could you possibly be a 100% certain that Yuuri is as corrupted as you make him sound? It's just...." Victor's hands clench, grasping at thin air as he searches for the correct word. The others seem to get the gist of it and no a little. "It feels so out of character, so not-Yuuri".

 

"Because, in case you haven't been paying attention to what I've been trying to tell you for the past minutes, I am Yuuri and Yuuri is me. How many times will I have to say it before you copy it?"

 

But being faced with only their contemplative expressions, Eros sighs. "Then I guess I'll have no other choice but to show you."

 

Chris raises a quizzical eyebrow,. "What do you mean, show us..."

 

The Swiss barely has time to finish his question, letting it trail and come to an abrupt stop upon witnessing the scene unfolding before him. He isn't the only one who doesn't see him coming, his companions .

 

They watch as their eyes meet Eros – no, Yuuri – now sitting bound to a chair in front of them.

 

Of course Eros knows Yuuri's body. He had it memorized from day one, every plane and dip, every curve. Nevertheless, his master never fails to surprise him. Every time he is positive he has engraved the image of him in his brain, he always discovers something new about his lover.

 

Before him Eros didn't understand how humans, despite their volatile nature, could talk themselves into settling down with one person only – if not more, as was becoming more common and accepted to a length.

 

Now, as he lives rather than sees the change occuring in his body, seeping through his veins like a slowly-consuming fire, he couldn't think of anything better.

 

His nails dig into the plushy fabric of the armchairs, his palms spread wide and carressing the material in a vice.

 

"It's fairly easy to understand Chris, really." Yuuri's face and sweet smile catch said man off guard, like a deer in the headlights. Yuuri – _no this is not Yuuri, stop it!_ \- doesn't seem to notice, still grinning at his audience. "Once you've had a taste of me, you won't be able to stop."

 

Assessing their expressions isn't too hard for Eros. The previous confusion still lingers, now added to growing vigilance and a reluctant interest. He could even swear he saw Yuri's pale fingers clasping onto the edge of the wooden table behind him, and Chris' Adam apple bobbing as he swallowed.

 

"The thing is,", Eros' Yuuri continues with a small smile on his lips, "I won't love you the way normal people do – if there ever was such a thing as normal. I'll love you the way hunters chase their prey, with reverence and unrepressed bloodlust; mercilessly, and with despair. I'll make you feel the way no other human being in existence could ever make you feel."

 

"Because," fake-Yuuri leans over, as the five men's feet unconsciously twitch to take a step forward, "I am incapable of loving quietly, not the way artists cherish their muses from a careful distance. Loving me is akin to the thrill of a chase. The kind that has you wondering: who is the hunter, and who is the hunted again? It's the blood pumping through your veins when you're chasing me down the streets, when you seek me out in places you haunt once I've made my presence know. It's the expectation of the mess you'll make of me once you find me, desperate and begging for your touch."

 

If he listened to himself, Eros would stop. He definitely should – donning Yuuri's appearance always sent shivers down his spine whenever he did, which had been often enough in the past months when he'd been making the acquaitance of his fellow villains. In spite of the fact that this particular transformation had led to fairly dubious experiences, he always felt a surge of excitement at the thought of looking like the picture-perfect reflection of his master – one way of sorts to get closer to Yuuri. And they were eating in the palm of his hand without a single protest, as if they were facing the real thing. What a bunch of dummies.

 

Eros licks his lips absentmindedly, his motion catching everyone's attention as they followed the path his tongue traced from a corner of his lips to another. He isn't quite certain whether he should feel satisfied at the sight of their dilated pupils, or repulsed. For now he settles on pushing their boundaries further.

 

“When you're with me, you can swear you were fully conscious just a minute ago; your head was clear, your vision in defined colors, you could hear everything from . But then this feeling washes over you, you know? Like downing glasses after glasses of cocktail and feeling the secondary effects thrumming through your whole body.”

 

“And that, is just when you see me. Think about it, you still haven't even touched me, and yet in the little time we've spent you have already memorized the color of my eyes, mapped out the moles your wandering eyes could find on my exposed skin, tasted my lips and played with my voice patterns long enough to have a visual image of what I would look like spread under you.”

 

“Once this is over you finally take it upon yourself to touch me, because imagination can only do so much before you get tired or curious. This is the part where you size me up, grab me by the collar or the shoulders not so gently and slam me against the nearest flat surface and press against my body. You attack me with your lips on mine and find no resistance, so you keep grinding, exploring every part of me you can reach with your tongue inside my mouth and your fingers grasping at my clothes.”

 

“Then you have me at your mercy, compliant and ready for you. Your hands are everywhere,” his voices picks up in a hitched manner, “tracing every inch of skin, always finding something new to tease and mark, worshipping me with your lips and fingertips from head to toe.”

 

“In this moment it's only the two of us moving together as if we were one; pressing, pulling, breathing each other in as if we were the other's oxygen, and not quite sure where I start and you end.”

 

“And when you find me... god when you do, you might as well be tearing me apart because at this point I'm a mess. In my head I'm lying back against the sand on a Hasetsu beach waiting for the wave to push me back, and we're grinding against each other as I feel the wave build and build and build until it crashes into me and it just...”

 

Eros gasps audibly, his fingers fiddling and clutching the armchairs as he lets his own fantasy wash over him. It comes to mind that he'd closed his eyes halfway through his rant, while trying to reach out to his inner Yuuri and empathize with him in the heat of the moment. As it was, he'd gotten carried away the memory of what they'd shared multiple times, but it had been worth it.

 

The others, he observes as he comes down from his high and opens his eyes, are in no better state. But unlike the previous moment, he doesn't wonder anymore what his feelings are on the matter of them getting off to his "foreplay". The five men aren't quite looking at him anymore – in fact it's as if they were doing everything in their power not to meet his gaze. Their skins are flushed to shades of pink under the chandelier lights, chests heaving and legs crossed but failing to hide a small tremor.

 

“Oh dear,” Eros huffs, his voice startles them out of their trance and snaps them back to reality. “Would you look at that. Five supposedly grown-ass men getting off naughty bedtime stories. Was it really all it took to turn you on?” He raises his eyebrows.

 

"You men are scum, really, always treating others as if they were a piece of meat. If you don't put them on a leash they'll come and bite you in the ass when you never asked for anything in the first place."

 

In a sudden gush of adrenaline, Eros breaks the handcuffs, the metal bindings falling to the ground. He makes equally quick work of the ones at his ankles and stands.

 

“Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dog to feed and a world to destroy. Gentlemen.”

 

He crosses the room in quick steps, barely brushing past the humans who make a point of ignoring him. Before he can go past the doors, Chris calls out from behind him, turning back to look Eros in the eye, in sync with the rest of the room.

 

“It isn't over, Eros.”

 

The intensity of their joint stares was palpable, so much he could almost feel them burning holes at the back of his costume. Nevertheless, he didn't dare turn back to give them the satisfaction of being caught.

 

“I know, Chris. I know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, tomatoes are very much appreciated :) come hit us up on tumblr @yuuriharemheadcanons & @allollipoppins  
> Chances are you won't be getting much writing from us in the next days; SugarSweetest/TypeWrite and I are in the middle of studying (or in my case, procrastinating four days before finals week) but remain receptive to messages - as next week is going to be busy, chances are I won't take up writing chapters until afterwards. We still take requests and ideas, if you ever feel like it :)  
> So far we've already got a chapter idea for JJ/Yuuri/Seung-Gil, OtaYuuri, YuuriGeorgi, YuuriMinami with Minami backstory. But because the main objective is to write our favorite Katsudon in many pairings, we're also interested in writing other fics on the Yuuri Harem. We've been toying with the idea of an Avengers fusion AU featuring poly!Yuuri and the gang; and also a HP!AU with would be smutty (and underage). If you're interested in details, you know where to find us ;)


	3. Yuuri/Georgi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the Puppet Master's costume and appearance came to be, ft. one Georgi Popovich with occasionally dubious fashion choices, one badass Yuuri Katsuki and a cameo from good ol' Eros.
> 
> UPDATE: after talks we decided to change Yuuri's costume to somthing that would look more like his FS costume. Please don't be mad at me ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter was originally meant to be the second chapter as it was written as a follow-up of sorts to the first chapter, but in the end I decided to make it into a backstory. I also meant to make the third chapter a MinaYuu, but after a finals weeks spent on 5 hours of sleep per day and rations of coffee and cup ramen, my sleep schedule and hormones were kinda fucked up. As a result, I was in desperate need of something a little lighthearted. Sadly, Georgi turned out less drmatic in my version, and it actually took me 4k words??  
> I absolutely hate that my changing moods should influence my writing. These past weeks have been stressful af: one second I'm very happy finally getting an internship and strating my demigirl transition, and the other I'm reminded that "hey, did you know you need a student visa for Murcia and also rent to pay and other adult responsibilities?"  
> Ugh, anyway. In less than two weeks I'm taking off for an internship in Sevilla for the next 2 months. Given that it's a waitress position that takes up ~ 40h/week, my only time writing will probably be in the evenings and the weekend. Fair warning, though I'm already started on the next chapters. In the meantime, I remain receptive to requests - short pieces of writing coming in the form of asks are always a good exercice and break from long chapter :)  
> Liv is in charge of the end notes this time :D go send my muse some love!  
> This chapter is dedicated to all you readers who somehow have the patience to wait for the long-ass updates, and to the people whose asks and comments have inspired me a lot for further chapters, and kept me up so far :)  
> As usual, neither Liv nor I own Yuri!!! on Ice nor its characters.

Georgi Popovich, head designer of Aurora House, somehow managed to juggle creating ten collections in both men and womenswear, and designing Yuuri's costume in the span of six months.

Though in fairness, he would have gone much faster if it hadn't been for the fact that, according to Yuuri and Eros, Georgi and he were close... friends.

 

“Georgi, you'll spoil the makeup.”

 

“It was already ruined in the first place.” the Russian man growled back, proceeding to wipe as much lipgloss off Yuuri's lips as he could – with his own lips and tongue.

 

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Yuuri couldn't help but chuckle. “Don't let Eros hear you.” Though he was ready to bet he'd heard everything.

 

At least, the undignified scoff they both heard from the other side of the dressing room was enough of an answer to make them giggle. “Too late,” Georgi noted, sending him a wink as he turned to draw the curtains. “Come on, let me show you my latest creation.” He extended his open palm towards Yuuri, a clear invitation to follow and – in Yuuri's opinion – annoy Eros further.

 

As if it hadn't been enough of him to barge on them making out on the couch earlier, tv playing in the background and Vicchan being the only one happy to see him. The only reason why he hadn't bothered to kick him out was because he knew of the bond existing between his master and the designer.

 

The two of them had met while they were both in college completing their degrees, Yuuri double majoring in criminology and journalism while Georgi had elected design as his own. Which, at first sight, was as evident as the sun rose in the east. A single look at the designer-in-the-making and his questionable, self-taught-and-applied makeup techniques was enough to make people doubt him.

 

Yuuri, on the other hand, hadn't heard much about Georgi until the latter asked him firsthand to model for him. He hadn't believed him at first, and it took much prompting before Georgi could get him in his studio for test shoots and fittings. From there, they'd escalated from model and designer, to study pals, and to the one and only person the other could consider as a real friend, someone with whom to go to the cinema or have ice cream and shopping dates.

 

Though their relationship was … complicated to say the least. Not in the twisted way he shared with Eros, but not as innocent either.

 

Long before finding Phichit again in the headquarters of the crime magazine they both worked for now, Georgi had been there for him. The friend who always gave him a pep talk, the friend who talked him into going shopping or watching a movie, the friend who knew his favorite ice-cream flavor and bought him one without needing to ask, the friend who waited on Yuuri at 3AM whenever he felt under the weather.

 

The friend who slept with him to forget how his fiancée cheated on him with another guy.

 

“Let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?” Georgi's suggestion shook him of his reverie, and he nodded at the unrequited innuendo the words carried.

 

Eros stood obediently on the sidelines, intently watching as Georgi started to unbutton the tuxedo, enough for Yuuri to feel his eyes burning holes into his back... or rather, Georgi's, who had somehow decided to check Yuuri's measurements again and analyse the clothing.

 

“Relax pup,” Georgi assured without looking at either of them, “just checking if the clothes are a good fit. Don't want you master wandering around looking like a trashcan, do you?”

 

Eros snorted. “As if I cared. Yuuri looks good in anything he wears.”

 

The latter was certain his cheeks were burning after that statement, a clear contrast with the crisp white shirt the stylist had dressed him in. Georgi huffed, but seemed to ponder his words. His analytical eyes wondered on Yuuri's form, taking him in wholly.

 

“Come to think of it, you're not completely wrong, Eros...”

 

“Guys, please.” Yuuri muttered, head lowered under the praise – or was it teasing? Hard to tell given both men's proclivity to shower him with compliments on occasion (meaning, on a regular-enough basis).

 

“Sorry,” they both echoed, one a little more honest than the other. Once Yuuri was down to his boxers and had a robe draped over his shoulders, Georgi stepped away to reach for a bag on the nearest table. With one flick of his hand, he beckoned both Eros and Yuuri to step closer to look at what was inside the bag.

 

Yuuri watched with bated breath as Georgi handed him its contents. “You go ahead. Think of it as an early birthday present.”

 

He tentatively unwrapped the garments out of their plastic and paper wraps, like a teenager warily unpacking his Christmas gifts, and laid each item on the table. He was so focused on the results he hadn't noticed Eros moving closer to him, standing behind his back. He mentally acknowledged the hand placed on his shoulder, as if in silent support.

 

Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Yuuri took in his newest costume.

 

Navy blue, form-fitting and made of a fabric he'd never seen before. It had the brillance of silk or velvet, he wasn't quite sure which material fitted the costume better as he tested the fabric under his fingers. The simplistic top under the jacket and assorted black dress pants were adorned with a myriad of stars that glittered faintly under the studio lights, like constellations over a summer sky. Embroidered wings and beads painted blue and purple completed the shoulder pads and small leather corset, the leather buckles at the front accentuating the curves of his chest and waist. The shoulder pads and gauntlets Georgi had given him were also made of soft fabric, comfortable and snug enough to let him move at ease without straining his muscles, he observed as he rotated his shoulders back and forth in a circular motion, and flexed his fingers.

 

Maybe he'd ask to have a mask as a final touch, Yuuri mused, thinking that using makeup would only get messy and smeared eveywhere. He voiced his thought out loud to Georgi.

 

"Actually, I'd rather you keep the makeup instead of a mask, if you don't mind. It's true that I should have thought about that earlier but ey, I just figured it would look cooler that way."

 

“Well yeah I get that, but you _do_ realize that I might still be recognizable without something to hide my face, right? As in, there's no need for me to put makeup on if I can use other means?”

 

“The makeup's just for insurance. Besides, with my expert hands, it won't be removed so easily. You of all people should know that.” The underlying tone of knowledge lingering in his voice brought a blush to Yuuri's cheeks. Of course he'd know.

 

He silently turned back to his new acquisition, not quite sure what to make of it.

 

To say he was a little surprised by the costume was an understatement.

 

Georgi, the fantastic partner in crime that he was, had tried to convince him to go for something a little more excentric, but the (first) final result had reminded him more of the girl from The Ring than anything else, almost giving him a heart attack when he took a look at himself in a mirror. The next result had been an oddly elegant cross between Slappy the Puppet and a Japanase Noh-Theatre actor, but remained every bit as creepy as its fictional counterparts. Next had been the tuxedo he'd been wearing instants ago, a better fit but the makeup hadn't done him justice either. He hadn't quite seemed like the Saw puppet, but he'd looked the part.

 

So it was a surprise to see this final product come out as minimalistic and yet so beautifully crafted, plus it gave him enough anonymity to be unrecognizable and unidentifiable to the public eye.

 

In short, he loved it. Yuuri's disguise wasn't as intricate and complex as Georgi probably would have wished it to be, but it was for the better. Who knew, maybe one day he'd be able to put the dresses and kimonos Georgi had specially designed for him to good use.

 

Which reminded him.... “But I thought you wanted me to wear a kimono.”

 

Georgi shrugged. “That was before I realized how awkward it would be for you to move. Unless you want me to add a few touches to it, but in the end you don't have to don the entire outfit if you don't want to.” The statement took Yuuri off guard. He knew Georgi to be someone who never did things halfway; either he was fully involved in his work, mind body and soul, or he dropped it the second.

 

“But Georgi -” Yuuri started to protest.

 

“No won't do, Yuuri, I can't have you waltzing down Detroit streets when you trip on your own two feet, can I? That would be rude of me.”

 

Yuuri didn't have the gall to correct him or feel offended. Georgi, if not all of his acquaintances were aware of his legendary clumsiness. Years of ballet training could only do so much for his form. Besides, it was nice to know that in spite of all fashion codes currently taking over the world, Georgi was still considerate enough to keep in mind his particular … needs.

 

“Still,” he sighed, “you took so much time just to prepare this outfit, knowing that you also had your fashion show to plan, models to recruit, and God, don't even get me started on – ”

 

Yuuri didn't get time to go on. In fact it was Eros who cut him off, forgotten in the background while he'd been watching the exchange between his master and Georgi.

 

“Okay,” he sighed, “what was it this time? What made you decide to change the costume on a whim??”

 

Georgi ignored the fake tiredness but very much real annoyance seeping through his voice in favor of circling Yuuri in long strides, taking in the outfit under different angles.

 

“The problem wasn't so much that it didn't look good; it would've been be a little impractical, although according to my measurements and adjustments you could have easily pulled off a jetée in those tuxedo pants.”

 

“Why would he want to do a jetée while he's slitting someone's throat? That would be awesome, sure, but really.”

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Eros, I think you have the wrong person here.”

 

“Anyway, let's try it on, then we'll see what to do with your makeup.” Georgi nudged him forward, gently removing the robe from his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground at Yuuri's feet.

 

To Yuuri's surprise, Eros turned to leave. “You're not staying, Eros?”

 

His shadow turned back at him to shrug. “I'm on patrol duty in a few minutes, and I don't want to miss anything out. Also,” he stopped before crossing the threshold, “I'd rather undress you _by myself_ when I get back home to see you in that.” He winked at Yuuri and sent a smirk Georgi's way, who replied with one of his own, before stepping out of the studio.

 

Silence settled in as the sound of his companion's footsteps faded into the distance. Georgi seized the opportunity to grab Yuuri's clothes, stretching them enough to help him into the pants, which were as tight as he'd imagined them to be, but not uncomfortably so. For the top Yuuri bend down slightly, arms stretched up while Georgi let the fabric slide over his arms then onto the rest of his frame. He repressed the small giggle building in his throat when Georgi's fingers brushed his sides, tickling him lightly. He held his breath while the corset was adjusted, but to his surprise it didn't bring any discomfort. He slipped on the gloves and assorted leather belt, turning on himself to catch his reflection in the mirrors. But before he could, Georgi pivoted him so they were face to face.

 

“Last detail,” he explained, and Yuuri shivered when his fingers dug under the shirt, softly brushing his neck, and ajusted the collar. For a moment, Yuuri was almost scared to lose his ability to breathe, but the knot that formed at the back of his throat dissolved as he realized he could easily take in breath, even with the cloth tight against his skin.

 

When he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind him, he could hardly recognize himself. Not only due to the fact that this outfit covered most of his body and didn't appear to give away his identity. The garments clung to him like a second skin, but in a pleasant way that didn't make his skin itch. He wondered how it was possible, for him to manage to pull off such a look. His reflection brought back childhood memories of superhero cartoons and fictional assassins in the movies Mari would take him to see back when... back then.

 

“You're so beautiful.”

 

He twisted on his toes in time for Georgi to pull the cowl down, and place his hands on each side of his face.

 

This was so intimate. It didn't feel uncomfortable, not the way his own, first future interactions with Minami would be. Georgi was one of the few besides Eros allowed to see him like that. Bare, so vulnerable under the layers of clothes and makeup that hit his other self.

 

Georgi was always oh so gentle, never coaxing him into things he knew Yuuri would dislike. And even when he thought the Russian would pull off a nasty trick, he'd ended up having fun against his initial preconceptions.

 

“You're quite the challenge, Katsuki Yuuri, did you know that?” He asked, staring directly into Yuuri's eyes.

 

Yuuri raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “How so?”

 

“Always being so mean to me and to yourself, forcing me into whatever business it is you have with that other gigolo”, he leaned his forehead against Yuuri's. “I don't like this, Yuuri, whatever it is you do. You know what I think, don't you?”

 

Yuuri sighed, pressing back against Georgi, his own hands moving up to Georgi's chest and digging int the fabric of his crisp white shirt. “I know you don't approve of this, Georgi, but I couldn't picture myself doing anything else. And I could not think of anyone better to do the job.”

 

Gerogi frowned. “Are we even talking about the same person at this point?”

 

Yuuri snickered. “I meant you, silly, not Eros. I”m choosing you for this because I know you're the best at what you do. Besides,” Yuuri brought his hands up to circle them around Georgi's neck, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear, “what kind of best friend would I be, keeping you out of these things?”

 

Georgi sighed with finality, knowing he wouldn't be able to talk Yuuri into changing his mind, for one. “Ugh. Fine, I'll do it, but don't come crying when _he_ stabs you in the back,” he emphatically insisted, Yuuri knowing without asking who exactly he was referring to.

 

Yuuri hummed as Georgi pulled away and guided him towards his vanity. Georgi motioned for him to sit, which he complied with Georgi still brushing his cheek.

 

“The stories are real, I see. Japanese truly have naturally soft skin.”

 

Yuuri felt the color rushing to his cheeks. “We – we do not! I don't where you got that from, but that's not true. At least I never heard of it.”

 

Georgi chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, now you know. But just in case, I'd rather have you moisturized before you go out there. After all, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't make sure your skin is properly treated?”

 

He sounded playful, but Yuuri knew him to be dead-serious, judging from Georgi's expression alone. He'd be damned if his personal makeup artist didn't follow his own rules.

 

Yuuri shrugged, but teased him back. “The kind of friend to whom I'd ask “who are you and what have you done to my Georgi?”, I guess.”

 

Georgi paused in the middle of blending the cream. “Your Georgi, huh?” he mused. He then extended his cream-coated fingers towards Yuuri's face, the other moving under his chin in a gentle but stable grip. “I like the sound of that. Although it's not like you to be territorial.”

 

“Not territorial,” Yuuri corrected, holding as still as possible while Georgi's expert fingertips deftly dabbed at his forehead and temples. “Just concerned.”

 

“You shouldn't be,” Georgi applied small batches on his cheeks in a freckle pattern, then booped Yuuri's nose with an additional spot of cream to distract him; the action made him smile. “I'm getting over An – I mean over her. Over it.” Georgi covered his light stumble by lowering his head, focusing on blending the product with his fingers.

 

Yuuri stilled. There was no denying Georgi was getting better at this: moving on was never an easy progress, and witnessing as he was taking steps forward was reassuring. Slow and steady wins the race, as the common saying went. Though Yuuri would have preferred him to get a grip earlier. His best friend didn't deserve to shed tears on such an undeserving woman.

 

He hummed, willing himself to go back to another subject. “You'll make me pretty then, won't you?”

 

“Oh honey, I don't need that do make you look nice, you already do a fine work on your own.” Georgi cups his face between his hands, looking him directly in the eyes. “Just ensuring that I'll be the only one seeing your real face.”

 

Yuuri laughed. “Now you're the one being territorial.”

 

Georgi grinned back. “Not territorial, no. Just concerned.” The Russian designer patted his cheeks, testing the texture of the finished product. He must have been satisfied, for he pulled away to reach for the rest of his supplies in his makeup case. Yuuri mourned the loss of the warm, gentle fingers on his skin. “Let's move to the real deal, then,” Georgi shot him a sideway smile that Yuuri corresponded. “Let's.”

 

Yuuri kept his eyes trained on Georgi, even though he knew the designer not to be paying attention to his surroundings. Right now, his sole focus was Yuuri, and Yuuri only. Knowing so pulled at something inside Yuuri.

 

The bastard was right. He sure could be possessive when he wanted to be.

 

He stayed as still as possible when Georgi started to apply the foundation, one that was far paler than the one he usually used but looked convenient enough. At least this time it wasn't face paint for clown makeup. He let his eyes close and his mind drift elsewhere as Georgi tapped on various spots on his face, applying small batches one at a time, the cool liquid losing its thickness when Georgi handily blended it on his skin, always with a light and gentle touch.

 

Yuuri opened his eyes as Georgi pulled away to grab the hightlighter. One glance at the mirror made him access that he definitely looked pale, almost white, his complexion looking closer to that of a Caucasian male save for his normal features. Georgi's fingers under his chin made him face him again.

 

“Pull your cheeks in,” he directed, and Yuuri sucked in a breath, pulling in and biting the insides of his cheeks. Georgi brushed each cheek with a powder that, if his eyes weren't failing him, was a few shades darker than the foundation, though still faint. Georgi added the finishing touches with blush, using his fingertips to spread the texture higher in a triangluar shape. Yuuri raised an eyebrow when he next took out a crayon.

 

“Freckles? Are you sure about that?”

 

“Absolutely! The makeup brought out your lovely cheekbones, it would be a shame not to highlight them further, even though they'll be hidden.” With this said, he delicately pecked Yuuri's cheeks with the crayon, before looking satisfied with his work and picking another crayon. Yuuri stole a few peeks: he did look cute with the tiny freckles painting near-invisible constellations on his face. One would have to come closer to see them. Clever boy.

 

“Eyes this time.”

 

Georgi followed the line of his eyebrows with a dark pencil the color of his hair, then grabbed a liner.

 

“Look up.” Yuuri did just so, his friend applying a thin line of khôl on each external lower eyelid. Once he could look down again, Georgi placed his thumb on a temple, silently motioning for him to close his eyes. He let himself be maneuvered, Georgi taking his time to run the liquid eyeliner along the lid directly above his lashes.

 

“Eyeshadow and mascara?” He heard the Russian ask from behind his closed eyes. Not knowing quite exactly how it was turning out, Yuuri shrugged. “You're the professional, you make the decision.”

 

“I'll take that as a yes, in that case.” Georgi remarked graciously, a beat passing until a spongy tool made contact with Yuuri's eyelid, spreading eyeshadow along the line previously drawn with eyeliner. Georgi made a quick work of the other eyelid too, then told him: “You can open your eyes now, I'll get the mascara.”

 

Feeling the bright light in his eyes again was a little painful, adding to the tiredness that was starting to weight down on him in addition to the thick mascara being applied on his lashes. It was getting late, after all. Georgi would probably have to give him a lift.

 

“Do you want to stay overnight?” Georgi's question caught him off guard, just as he was getting started on his lips. Had he absentmindedly voiced his thoughts out loud?

 

“No it's fine, I don't want to be a nuisance. Surely you must have a lot of work to do and I don't want to keep you busy.”

 

“That's not a problem.You could never be bothersome, even if you tried.” Georgi traced his lips with a red crayon – Yuuri guessed the shade as “Blood” - , then proceeded to coat them with a lipstick of a similar shade. Yuuri had to open up his mouth so Georgi could have an exact access to his lips, having decided long ago to only paint the middle so his puckered lips would form a heart. He pulled them together, rubbing before releasing them with a loud “pop” that resonated inside the otherwise quiet room. Realizing suddenly how obscene his action had been, Yuuri's cheeks colored, certain they were as red as his lips.

 

Georgi, thank God, hadn't seemed to notice nor mind. “Last touch,” he only concluded, grabbing a beige and brown pencils and tracing two parallel lines on Yuuri's chin, running from the bottom corner of each side of the red heart. He took turn using the pencils, coloring the lines alternatively and shading to have them burst, as if they were part of Yuuri's face.

 

He finally sighed, pushing back in his chair and away from Yuuri to watch him. “There, all done!”

 

“How do I look, then?” Yuuri asked, wincing a little when he sat up, having stayed in the comfortable chair for much too long.

 

Georgi grinned in response, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Why don't you see it for yourself?”

 

When he saw the transformation, Yuuri gasped. He had known Georgi to be capable of miracles and making some of the best illusions out of reality, but he hadn't thought him capable of transforming into a human-sized, realistic-looking puppet. Somehow, Georgi had managed to pull quite a feat: he'd transformed him into a ventriloquist dummy. The words alone, he thought as he stepped closer to the glass, didn't do it justice. The name, used on its own, appealed to a world Yuuri only associated with darkness and children's nightmares, and yet when he looked at him he felt none of the horror he'd expected to experience upon gazing at his final makeover. He didn't remind himself of a Goosebumps villain or a demonic clown straight out of a freak show. He reminded himself of the precious dolls one kept in glass cases in museums, for the sake of preserving their beauty from the outer world.

 

“And what do you think of the final result?” Georgi asked softly, his chest pressing against Yuuri's back.

 

Yuuri swallowed the lump in his throat. “These are my strings. Puppets are only free when they love their strings, aren't they?”

 

The kiss Georgi pressed to his neck made him shiver, though not enough to take his eyes off his reflection.

 

Georgi hummed appreciatively in his ear. “I guess so. I take it it is to your taste, Puppet Master?” Georgi murmured.

 

Yuuri shook his head. “I don't like it. I adore it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I'm sure you were all expecting something far grander for Yuuri's attire, I get it. But I've been told kimonos, and dresses with high heels were quite impractical during combat.
> 
> P.S.: I might be tempted to write an AU of this AU (wtf does that?) in an Arkham Asylum/Gotham setting, just for the sake of writing Yuuri in a dress. & I dare you to tell me Yuuri wouldn't look good af in Nightwing's costume.
> 
> Go give love to my muse @yuuriharemheadcanons  
> Send me (small) requests if you think I don't half suck @allollipoppins
> 
> \- liv here - did u know I was the one saying it's impractical?
> 
> The more u know


	4. Multishipping drabbles part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of drabbles based off this challenge: http://www.delahoydepublishing.com/uploads/3/0/4/1/30416952/6437662.jpg?725  
> First set: 1 -> 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Istg, I'm not trying hard to push back the planned chapters ^^'  
> Funny story is: I was thinking about the format in which I wanted to write this one Tom Riddle/Harry Potter fic I adopted ages ago and have yet to touch, when I came but with the idea. Sice the plan was to write drabbles, I thought "hey, why not do it for the villain au?"  
> This challenge was fun :) I got the first 10 words covered this weekend, and it fuelled my creativity a great deal. I think that at this point we all know how slowly I update, so I guess having these drabbles to wait in the meantime is a compensation of sorts.  
> Pros: it's diverse and makes for more imagination than I thought; plus that way we get the whole harem in one go!  
> Cons: the unequal wordcount between the drabbles; I guess some were more inspiring than others, I tried to be as open to multishipping as possible here. Really trying not to be too biased, sorry if it feels like it ^^  
> And I'm happy to announce that I got requests :D Expect the next chapter to be a short one featuring Yuuri/Eros in an alternate version of the AU! I was also asked for an Eros backstory, which was also planned beforehand but will, sadly, take me time as per usual. I intend to write it in the form of a songfic!  
> I'm on a plane to Sevilla in exactly a week: won't keep from writing though, so keep sending feedback and requests :) It's always lovely to hear from you guys!  
> Disclaimer: Neither Liv nor I own Yuri!!! on Ice and its characters, or the prompts.

  1. **Dance – Phichit**




 

"Give me a show to die for, Puppet Master" he whispers in his ear. "Dance with me and let's pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, yes?"

"Will you let the hostages go if I do?"

The Ringmaster chuckles. "I'm a man of my word, Puppet Master. But I'm not so sure I'll let you escape me so easily."

They stand face to face, circling each other in tune with the rhythm and atmosphere the song conveyed. Their limbs and bodies tilt and ripple, flexing and curving in harmony and in mirrored motions. The smooth, quick steps bring them closer then further away from one another, only ever touching through the gusts of hot air curling between their movements.

Neither pays heed to their unwilling audience, both lost in a world only their momentarily entwined hands and locked eyes can reach.

"I can always stay longer," the Puppet Master suggests as they sink to the ground, hands held high and poised in a praying manner as they put their legs into the next stance, ready to start ascending into harsher, springy steps for the continuation.

He swears the Ringmaster's answering smile could blind his audience if he willed it to. "I'd love nothing more."

 

  1. **Treat – Chris**




 

"And what can I get you, sweetheart?"

Yuuri turns distractedly from the target, if only to nod in acknowledgement at the bartender, then takes a double turn.

The Dramatic Assassin in the flesh is currently standing before him, pouring the contents of his cocktail shaker into a tall glass filled with ice cubes and lemon, which he then puts in front of Yuuri.

"There you go, love, one mojito. It's on the house."

Yuuri eyes the glass suspiciously. At first sight there's nothing wrong with its contents: black straw in place, thin slices of lemon on the rim and mingling with ice cubes at the bottom, a clear green that reminds him vaguely of his enemy's own irises. Which, come to think of it, also kind of remind him of –

He shakes his head, chasing away that ridiculous thought. The pretend bartender only chuckles at his actions.

"It's only a cocktail, promise. No roofies, no poison, just a good ol' fashioned mojito."

He leans over the bar. "You can thank me later, my shift ends at 11." The Assassin winks at him and goes back to wiping shots glasses with his towel, whistling a tune the puppeteer can't catch.

Yuuri's eyes stay on him the entire time, sipping absentmindedly his drink and licking his lips to catch the remains of the liquid that escape his mouth. He doesn't miss once the way the blond's gaze focuses on him in these instants.

 

  1. **Sand – Georgi**




 

Yuuri takes Georgi to Hasetsu weeks after they graduate, as a graduation present. The initial plan had been to buy himself a one-way ticket to Japan and fly off to Hasetsu to never come back ever again.

That, of course, had been five years ago. Now, a degree and a best friend later, he could not think of a better way to celebrate their newfound freedom, and friendship.

As much as he hates to admit it, he's glad that Georgi wasn't looking too forward to going back in Russia. Even though he'd admitted it was temporary – enough time to stay over at his parents' place and see the whole family again – , Georgi didn't have it in him yet to tell them Anya and him had broken up. Again. Yuuri had yet to get the "Met a pretty girl in the US?" talk from his parents, but it shouldn't take too long. Besides Georgi would be sleeping in the room next to his, rather than in the clients' section of the inn. Word of the only son taking a man back with him from his years spent studying abroad would definitely reach the whole village.

Not that he particularly cares at the moment. All that he wants right now is to spend his time in the hot springs, eat his mother's infamous pork cutlet bowl and take morning walks with Vicchan on the beach. All with his best friend in the entire world.

The next day, he finds the look on Georgi's face when the waves crash into them faster than expected is worth a thousand suns.

 

  1. **Salt – Eros**




 

"Swallow," Yuuri commands. Eros does as ordered, the taste of fried egg and pork lingering on his tongue.

In the span of the half-decade they'd spent together, Eros had come to the conclusion that Yuuri had some sort of switch that made him change from his civilian identity to his vigilante one. He revered them both as one and only person, though he'd drawn a line between the imposing figure that was the Puppet Master and the comforting, loving Yuuri.

But to say he'd never once been scared of Yuuri Katsuki in the span of the last five years would be a fucking lie.

Somehow he's managed to make his boss lose his temper only twice – both times having coincidentally (or not) and indirectly involved his mother. He still shivers when thinking back of the way Yuuri's eyes had flickered when he'd admitted he found Mama Katsuki's Katsudon "decent".

After all, who the hell would dare call Hiroko Katsuki's homemade speciality "just decent?"

A man with dysfunctional taste buds, was what. "Even Victor Nikiforov had lost his grasp of English after having a single bite" a distant voice chimes in his ear.

He goes for the next bite, relishing Yuuri's smile at the gesture. No way in hell was he losing to that Russian imbecile.

 

  1. **Clip – Minami**




 

"You should start off by cutting your hair. No respectable villain keeps a haircut like that." The Puppet Master, as he'd introduced himself, states and juts his chin in Minami's general direction. Shame overcomes his body in a matter of seconds. Being noticed by his problematic favorite is one thing; being judged for his lack of care in the hair department of all things, is another. And Minami only endeavours to please.

Before he can stop himself from committing something very out of line, he blurts out: "Would you teach me then? How to cut my hair?"

The masked man raises an eyebrow at his question. Minami, only realizing the full implication of his question, swears. What an idiot. What shit kind of villain asked his enemy for a haircut?

He's ready to take back his words when Puppet Master cuts him off, waving a hand dismissively and sighing. "Um whatever, I guess there's no harm in that. It's not like I have anything better to do for tonight. Got any scissors?"

In answer Minami only hands him his cards, taking them all out from under his sleeves one by one until they form a uniformed stack in his open palm, sharp edges glinting under the lamplight.

The man facing him sighs again. This is going to be a long night.

 

  1. **Bread – Victor**




 

It doesn't take a genius to realize Ruthless Gold is looking a little out of sorts tonight.

Yuuri isn't sure what gives him away the most: his skin that looks a little paler than usual, the cheekbones which stand out more than usual (sharp enough he's certain he could cut himself just from touching one of his cheeks), the way his body moves far more slowly than it should as if the silver-haired villain were in a drunken or drowsy state, or the fact that his blue eyes lack their usual shine.

Not that he spends that much time looking at Ruthless Gold or caring either, thank you very much.

"Ruthless, when was the last time you ate?"

Said man turns lazily towards him, eyes lost in a faraway daze. "I don't know, maybe two, three days ago? A week? Hard to tell."

Yuuri has half a mind to want to scold him for his obvious lack of care, or slap him for behaving like an idiot. But the statement involuntarily makes warning bells ring in his ear.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's dragging Ruthless Gold bodily to the closest 24/7 grocery store, the both of them stumbling into the premade-food section. The cashier nods in their direction, seemingly too tired to care or notice who they actually are.

"There," Yuuri shoves a salmon and cream cheese sandwich pack along with a couple of dollar bills in Ruthless Gold's chest, shaking him awake in the process. "You go pay for that and eat it. Now."

He walks up to the checkout, not noticing how the villain's gaze shifts from staring at the sandwiches to his back.

"Ah,wait!" Victor yells, almost calling Yuuri by his name in the spur of the moment and catching himself in time. He jogs up to Yuuri, who represses a groan at having him breaking into his personal space. "Why are you doing this?"

Yuuri – or rather Puppet Master – raises an eyebrow. "Well, I can't exactly have my worst enemy starve to death, can I? Do me a favor and don't die on me when I'm not on duty."

The other gasps. "I am your worst enemy?"

Before he can take back his words, Yuuri is engulfed in a hug so tight he's close to losing his breath. "Oh, Puppet," Ruthless cooes in his ear, "you're my worst enemy too!"

In spite of the cowl and makeup shielding Yuuri's face, Ruthless can tell the puppeteer's cheeks are turning various shades of red. He puts his hands on his chest, pushing him away (and lingering a little on the muscles he feels under his palms, Victor notes with satisfaction). "Ye-yeah well," the vigilante turns his head away, stuttering slightly, "it's not that hard to achieve either. S' not like you're my only enemy, anyway." He goes for the sliding doors, rushing to leave.

"That's not what it sounded like, Puppet Master!" Ruthless calls after him as he exits the store.

He could steal the sandwiches and keep the money for all Yuuri cares. As long as he quits being such a dork.

 

  1. **Fish – Otabek**




 

The first time Yuuri goes to Otabek's place for a date, he's not sure what to expect. After all, one can only think so much when the guy they're interested in asks "Are you coming in or not?". Blunt, short and simple with a commanding edge, something that suited the Kazakh policeman very well.

When it turns out Otabek intends to cook for him on their first date instead of giving him a one-night stand, he's pleasantly surprised to find that the cop is a perfect gentleman – not that he expected any less from him.

Otabek announces that he'll make fish shashlik but politely refuses Yuuri's help, despite his assurance that he follows rules to the t and is a good cook (an understatement if he weren't so humble, but he can't always take Eros' words for granted). Hopefully he can pay back the favor on their next date – because he knows there will be a second date, and a third date, and more to come afterwards. Yuuri mentally thanks all the deities he can think of for the fact that Otabek is a deist Muslim. Makes the prospect of feeding him katsudon all the more easy.

Yuuri wishes he could explore the rest of the apartment, maybe find out more about his new coworker, but he's not comfortable doing it without Otabek by his side; otherwise he might as well be intruding. For the timebeing he enjoys the view he gets from his seat at the counter, Otabek's back facing him while he marinates the fish with spices and other condiments, one hand sometimes swatting at his cat to keep him from nipping at the raw meat.

Besides, there's something fascinating and downright hypnotic about watching the Kazakh cook for the both of them, the swiftness and gentleness of his movements when he handles the food a nice change from the rougher everyday routines his other partners follow.

Who knows? If Otabek's in the mood later, he wouldn't mind seeing what else these hands are capable of.

 

  1. **Race – Yuri**




 

Come sleep or consciousness, Yuri Plisetsky is always running for his life.

The voices are always there, somewhere at the back of his mind, taunting him and drawing closer at every corner. Most of the time he can take pride in admitting he has them under control, and rebuke any offered help; for every provocation he bites back, cutting into people with an ease and familiarity that is almost frightening and fills him with a near-maddening impression of power. But on other days, he feels more than ever the need to scream.

Celebrity enhances the dread pulling and tugging at something in his chest – his heart? He's been told he had none, that's impossible. Opening his eyes wide or keeping them tightly shut won't make a difference. All bodies turn to shadows, any frenetic, hysterical chanting of his name becomes a slur, an open insult and order to submit to a nameless crowd ready to engulf him, swallow him whole at any second. The world is his enemy, pushing him closer to the edge of a cliff by the minute and commanding him to dance, _dance_ , _**dance**_ , until he falls into the darkness.

Arms come to embrace him, a soothing voice starts to ring in his ear.

He's been caught.

 

  1. **Poor – JJ**




 

Yuuri doesn't understand how anyone could possibly hate JJ.

Sure, the officer can come across as a bit of a brat at first sight. And that is as nice a comment as possible, especially coming from people who'd be willing to go much further in their criticism of one of the oldest members of the force. Yuuri himself had needed some time to rub off the initial discomfort he felt when around his coworker – but to be honest, this was in greater part due to a deep-rooted fear of cops and law-enforcement officers, nothing all too personal.

Most of what comes to his mind whenever he thinks of JJ is the quintessential image of the good cop; that one guy who wolfs down donuts after donuts with black coffee on a sunny day without gaining a pound, but who still has smears of jam and powdered sugar on his lips that he's more than happy to wipe off for him; the man who boxes shirtless and lets sweat gleam on his skin and tattoos, never stopping unless he's sure he's gone through his entire workout schedule; the person who, in spite of representing the next generation of a blue-blooded family whose connection with security forces dates back to centuries, always works hard day after day to prove his worth in a system that still spits on him for not sharing a full American inheritage.

It matters most on the days Yuuri pays him visits at the shooting range or the boxing club, catching JJ adjusting his engagement ring on his finger when he knows for sure the ring isn't too tight nor too loose on the digit. On days like this he lets JJ drag him out for burgers and fries and beer at the nearest diner – a common favorite – , then drive them up to the hills to watch the stars.

He always kisses him on the cheek when they drops him off, reassuring him he's as bright as any star in the solar system.

 

  1. **Rich – Seung**




 

For a man who sells millions of copies of his books on every possible platform and writes articles for a crime magazine on a regular basis, Seung-Gil still finds it in him to live like a college student.

If he threw in a wild guess, his fellow coworker probably hadn't changed apartments since his first year in the US. Seung-Gil has the efficiency of a man who buys the exact amount of food needed for three daily meals and a monthly supply of dog food (with added treats and toys that, when asked, are of "utmost importance).

Fame has its perks when it all comes down to that: at least Yuuri knows who to contact when he's shopping for dog toys to celebrate Vicchan's birthday, or when he just wants to spend a Sunday afternoon in peace. But otherwise he two of them never waste money or food on mutual agreement, and always cook homemade side dishes for brunch. And when it starts to get warmer they'll snuggle on the couch, with Seung-Gil working on his drafts and potential future articles while Yuuri naps, the dogs never to far away. He supposes he could get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarifications:  
> \- In #2 Yuuri momentarily associates the Assassin's eyes to Chris', whom he knows in rl, but chases the idea bc ofc Chris could never be a villain right??  
> \- #5: Yuuri and Minami have the oddest relationship as hero and villain. Basically they're on opposite sides but Yuuri kind of takes pity of him and shows him the ropes in hope that he'll switch camps.  
> \- #6: Friendly reminder that Ruthless Gold used to be Yuuri's rolemodel as a child back when he was still a hero, a status which changed when he became a villain. From this point on, Yuuri hated Ruthless.  
> \- #7: Otabek works at the police force with JJ and collaborates with Yuuri and Seung-Gil for their crime magazine.  
> \- #8: Yuri, like Victor, had a difficult childhood - think Black Widow's backstory. And Yuuri has become his lifeline.
> 
> ****************************************************************
> 
> Visit the original creator of the AU on tumblr and feed them cookies @yuuriharemheadcanons  
> Drop them prompts if you think I don't suck too much @allollipoppins


	5. Yuuri/Eros - Family AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kreuzxherz asked: "Can you do a family AU wherein Yuuri is a husbando while Eros is the waifu? Their children will be the costumes that Yuuri wore during his Junior division days."
> 
> http://allollipoppins.tumblr.com/post/161109866002/i-have-a-crazy-idea-can-you-do-a-family-au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I see what you did there ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> Ok so I feel as if I didn't spend as much time as I probably should have on this drabble? I'll let you be the judge of that.  
> I wasn't exactly sure what you were thinking of, so I kind of went with an The Incredibles-esque take on the villain au. I initially wanted it to be more Addams-family ish but ey, didn't work well ^^' please don't kill me for playing on the husband/wife trope and annoying poor Yakov.  
> It was fun to write, overall, and very self-indulgent so thank you for the request :D I'll crosspost it on my tumblr too!  
> It has made me want to write a separate, dark Victor/Yuuri/Eros that wouldn't be set on the villain au, and would border more on horror (blame it on me, I got back into watching youtubers shit their pants while playing FNAF or BATIM). But aaaaaaaah too many ideas. I even have a thing for another harem fic but my brain wants me to do it in spanish, of all things Σ(‘◉⌓◉’)  
> Anywho, this OS is separate from the villain au (non-canon compliant if you will). By the villain au's standards, this story is hella unrealistic.  
> Disclaimer: Neither Liv nor I own Yuri!!! on Ice and its content. Though Liv technically owns Eros and I own Jun and Ichiru Katsuki...

It was only a matter of time, Yuuri mused absentmindedly, before something like that happened. He was looking at every possible item in sight in the vicinity in a very clear, stubborn decision to ignore his wife.

Eros sighed next to him. One of his hands, which had previously been resting on his knee and crimpling the fabric of his dress, moved to put it on Yuuri's knee instead. He felt the tense muscles under his palm through the fabric of his pants. Yuuri could be pig-headed when he wanted to (the irony, considering the fond nickname he kept for his husband), but he supposed he was partly to blame for their current predicament.

The two of them sat together in the much too short-legged, cramped plastic seats placed outside of the principal's office. School had been over for a good hour now, but they'd been asked to come fetch Ichiru and Jun personally after school, not specifying why the kids hadn't taken the bus on the way back home.

At least, Yuuri had gotten as much. He was still at work when Eros had called to tell him that the children had gotten into trouble at school. Again. Cue the two of them fighting on the way to school, arguing that it was the other's fault for not taking good care of the kids and generally being a bad influence.

Not that it went so bad. Their similarly sarcastic characters clashed more often than not, which was their own way of saying "I love you" to each other. It had never once gone further than ranting, but it still hurt at times.

"Mr and Mr, er, Katsuki?" They raised their heads at the sounds of the secretary's voice calling their names, albeit in a hesitant manner. "Principal Feltsman will see you now."

Yuuri exhaled in relief when he got up, feeling his limbs scream at how cramped they had previously been, imprisoned by the chair. He held a hand to Eros as a silent apology, which his wife took graciously.

Ichiru and Jun instantly turned in their direction when they pushed past the doorstep, only to lower their head again. Seeing them like this struck Yuuri a little, even after all these years. The twins were naturally identical, but looked so much more alike in this moment,from their shared guilty expression to their outfits. Though Jun wore a dress under her jacket and Ichiru leggings and a t-shirt, they both had their striped black and neon blue training gear on. Yuuri's eyes squinted from behind his glasses. Were his eyes playing tricks on him or were the kids already wearing their hero costumes under their clothes?

"Please, have a seat."

He didn't have time to reflect on that, Principal Feltsman pressing them to move. Eros and him sat on opposite sides, Eros on Jun's left and himself on Ichiru's right. He squeezed his shoulders in passing, and gave a small smile to Jun in hope she'd be reassured. She smiled back at him, though in a smaller and still reluctant way, as Eros nodded at him and Ichiru looked up at his father. At least he wasn't mad at them. For now.

Principal Feltsman went back behind his desk, sighing wearily as the chair creaked under his weight, no doubt also because of the situation.

"I believe you are aware of the reason why you are currently here in this office, Mr Katsuki and Mr..." he dragged out while looking at Eros, not sure what to call him. Eros plastered a smile on his face, trying to be as polite and human as he could possibly manage.

"It's Katsuki too. We're married." Eros stated, stealing a glance at Yuuri to find him repressing a sigh. This wasn't the first time they were practically mistaken for a pair of strangers. The uncanny resemblance between the two of them always led people to deduce they were twins, or at the very least brothers or cousins. Others just assumed they were close friends, and the more racist ones took it for granted that they knew each other due to their shared Asian features. But God forbid they be married and with children old enough to be in primary school.

Yakov Feltsman raised an eyebrow but quickly recovered from his surprise. "Right then, Mr and Mr Katsuki. As I was saying, I believe you know why exactly you are in my office in this moment."

"Well, as a matter of fact Mr Feltsman... we don't" Yuuri started, glancing at Eros who stared back at him, their gazes then shifted to the two young ones who were currently still looking at their laps.

"It is my understanding that your son, Ichiru got into a fight. Again." Yakov Feltsman promptly accented the second part of his sentence, his fingers fiddling with a folder on the corner of his desk. Neither parent missed his action. "The other person involved was the young Mr Andrews, whom as I recollect was at the nurses a few hours ago with, well, a great deal of bruises on him. Quite a number you did on him, young man," Yakov observed as he stared down at Ihciru, who had the decency to look ashamed.

Yuuri wasn't so surprised, to tell the truth. Their oldest, Ichiru, had been a difficult child to deal with since the beginning. Unlike his little sister Jun, he was a troublemaker and would never stay still for too long, a trait he'd inherited from his mother. While the younger Katsuki had gotten their father's sweet temper, Eros had rubbed on Ichiru personality-wise.

He wouldn't always be able to mother-hen him. Didn't mean he couldn't try. "Is that true, Ichiru?" He kept his voice low and levelled, enough to make his son see that he wasn't mad at him. It took a lot to make him angry, and none of his children ever could.

Ichiru looked up at him, nervousness lingering in his gaze. "I – I did but... I had my reasons!"

"Did you, now?" the principal cut him before Yuuri could ask what he meant by that.

"Surely we could let Ichiru say what he has to say? I'm sure there is a good explanation to it, isn't that so, sweetheart?" Eros replied in their son's stead, using the mellow voice he knew him to use on the children, though Yuuri detected the chilly undertone lying under it. Yuuri wasn't sure who to feel most sorry for.

"He started it! Andrews was bullying Jun so I told him to stop, I promise I did! But – but then he decided to hit me, so I had no other choice, did I?" Ichiru cried out, cheeks flushed from a mixture of embarassment and indignation.

"I'll have to ask you to lower your voice with me, Mr Katsuki, otherwise this won't end well." Yakov threatened in an all too calm way for Yuuri to like it.

"Now now," he tried to appease them as the tension in the room was slowly getting thicker. "Let's try to calm down, shall we?" Yuuri then turned to his youngest, who still appeared to fid the floor very interesting. "Jun, love, is what Ichiru is saying true? Was Andrews bullying you?"

Jun wouldn't meet his eyes, fiddling with her sleeves and playing with the buttoned cuffs. Yuuri exhaled softly, then put his hand on Jun's shoulder, the other squeezing Ichiru's to let him know he didn't blame him at all. Jun slowly nodded at her father, clearing her throat gone hoarse from the lack of talking. "He – he was," she stuttered, a habit she only presented when truly nervous, undoubtedly inherited from him. "He, he was threatening to – to – hit me and Ichiru came to defend me."

Eros rubbed his hand on Jun's shoulder, then turned back to Feltsman. "See? Just self-defence."

Mr Feltsman, on the other hand, was clearly not buying it and was starting to lose it, if the vein popping on his forehead was any indication of his predicament. "May I remind you, Mr and Mr Katsuki, that your son still resorted to violence against his companion? Gave him a significant number of bruises, if I may add. Mr Andrews thankfully made it to the nurse's with only a black eye and no broken ribs; a miracle, since most students present reported quite a number of punches thrown in. I don't know what you would like to call it, Mr Katsuki, but that is most definitely not self-defence."

"You gave him a right hook?" Eros raised his voice in surprise, almost making Yuuri jump. Eros wasn't one to give in to frequent emotional outbursts, even when it came to situations such as this one.

Ichiru nodded, his cheeks flushing from shame. Eros' lips spread into a wide smile, as he lifted up a hand to high-five his son. "Well done, that's my boy!"

"Eros!" "Mr Katsuki!" both husband and director yelled, Mr Feltsman out of frustration and no doubt rising anger, and Yuuri out of embarassment on his wife's behalf.

Eros somehow managed to get away with merely a shrug "What? Surely he must have had his reasons. You heard Ichiru after all, Andrews did start first..."

Mr Feltsman seemed ready to resign, lifting a hand to wipe out the sweat beading on his brow, and sighing. Yuuri absentmindedly took notice of his wrinkled forehead and the long, gray strands of hair falling on each side of his face. "Look, it's getting late and I still have a lot of work to do. Let's just call it quit and leave this matter for now, yes? Hopefully the Andrews won't try to sue you.. but in the meantime, please try to control your son."

"Rest assured, Principal Feltsman, we will do just that."

They took their leave from the principal's office with a quick nod Mr Fletsman dismissed, ready for them to get out of his sight. His secretary watched as they exited the school wing, the little family calmly walking to the parking lot in a single row – a picture-perfect shot that could have been taken out of a children's album.

"You do realize that even though you got of here without anything, this doesn't mean we'll get off your backs so easily?" Yuuri exhaled as he shut his side of the car, putting the key into the ignition but not turning on the car just yet.

"But dad – " the kids started to protest, Eros lifted a hand to stop them.

"I think it's same to assume that you won't be accompanying us on missions for the rest of the week, young ones." Both felt a slight pang in their chest at the sight of the twins' crestfallen expressions. It was the beginning of the week after all, and they knew the kids to be excited to finally be able to join their papa and mama on their missions now that they were of age. Hell, they already had their costumes on underneath their civilian clothes. To think they'd have to go to bed removing them after an eventless day...

"You're still getting katsudon tonight, don't worry about that," Yuuri smiled reasurringly. The younger ones' faces lit up with smiles, as they launched themselves at their father and mother for a group hug. At least that was some kind of consolation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that if you have ideas you'd like me to write for the villain au my askbox is always open for requests, crazy as they may be sometimes ;)


	6. MinaYuu - 愛して愛して愛して

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he was the Dazzling Joker, he was Minami Kenjirou.  
> Minami's backstory to the lyrics of Kikuo's Aishite Aishite Aishite, with a side of MinaYuu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture me in this context. It is midnight in my hotel room in Sevilla, most of my roommates are sleeping and I'm typing the notes to this really bad chapter in almost complete darkness.  
> Also picture me in this context. Me in my room back in Paris, writing this chapter on a post-exam, coffee-fulled, period-affected brain. Funnily enough, the same thing was to happen EXACTLY a month later, but in a different country.  
> Here's for the ranting. This chapter is not the best I've written, and is probably the shortest chapter out of all chapters. I initially wished to write a more detailed backstory for Minami, with all the lyrics to Kikuo's song Aishite Aishite Aishite (Love Me Love Me Love Me), but as it was the general theme of the chapter and my tiredness post 8-hour long shifts at work didn't exactly encourage me to write. This chapter feels like a leftdown, but sadly it's the most I can do at the moment until my next day off or free time period.  
> In relation to that, there are a few things you should know:  
> \- for practical reasons, the next chapter (which should be the 2nd part of the multishipping drabbles) will comprise drabbles which were originally meant to be full chapters. Because my writing time and imagination are sadly not very extensive these days, and compliant with my work schedule, they'll be published as long paragraphs. In any case, they'll remain "canon" and releant to the villain AU.  
> \- I actually got a ton of requests and I'm so glad and happy, but also kind of... overwhelmed. I've got like 5 pending requests which I did see, but I won't make promises when it comes to publication dates.  
> \- Regarding the matter of requests: OS requests should be addressed to allollipoppins in the comment, on my tumblr (@allollipoppins) or on ffnet (@allollipoppins97).  
> \- Kink requests? DO NOT send them to @yuuriharemheadcanons. The blog is for sfw hcs, NOT kinks. I can write them and then ask the admin if it can be published on the blog, but otherwise just don't send them directly to the admin.  
> \- ALSO VERY IMPORTANT: your request should comply with the canon villain AU. I suggest you check out @yuuriharemheadcanons on tumblr to get an idea of what canon is, or reread the previous chapters. If your request doesn't stick to the villain AU, I will still keep/consider it and adapt it for a potential over AU.  
> \- Last but not least: It is midnight. I am tired. There mustbe typos around. Please bear with me for now.

Minami Kenjirou sees red.

 

The water pools around his ankles, cascading down his pink legs and splashing against the tiles of the shower stall.

 

_[Distantly far away far away long ago a coiled necklace]_

 

“ _Now Minami, you'll be a good boy and stay still for your shot, will you?_

_He tries to scream but hands slap on his mouth, restrain his limb. One wraps around his neck and its coil gets tighter, tighter, tighter –_

_Black spots invade his vision, eclipsing the pain of the needle sinking into his skin.”_

 

_[“I want people, I want people,” it cried, this cursed necklace]_

  
  


His skin is turning pink from the scalding water, the color sprouting from various spots on his limbs and spreading like wildfire, a distant rash his eyes ache to relieve but not his hands.

 

 

_[Don’t get angry.]_

 

“ _You good-for-nothing brat,” a woman spits from behind him before striking him on the back one more._

_He sits on his knees, hands balled into fists and a neutral, distant expression on his face. The ideal figure of the obedient child._

_The first strikes have that effect. They don't sting so much anymore, or maybe it's just that he can't feel them as acutely as he does for the next ones._

_His nails dig into his palms as the whip hits the tender, marred flesh of his back which he is sure is a cobweb of red lines by now, a maze of strings entangled together and imprisoning his frame._

_He grits his teeth when she pauses, then lashes out at him with a howl-like scream. There we are, he observes. The whip drags itself along his spine, dragging with it remnants of the skin it has reopened, and blood. The movement, somehow, reminds him of a dog licking its master's wounds._

_Such irony._

 

Maybe if he untangled his hands from his hair, he could give in to the pulsing curiosity. Run his fingers along his arms, his legs, his chest and back. Search for dark places and feel them burn underneath his numb fingertips. Rake them with his nails, just the tips, then pressing, digging into the flesh then rubbing, and scratching, until skin there is no more.

  
  


_[Don’t abandon me.]_

  
  


_"Please, Minami, my darling, my love..."_

_He advances towards the woman half-sprawled on the floor, her body slowly emptying itself from blood, liquid seeping between the fingers she presses on her stomach. If he closes his eyes, Minami could almost hear it drip. Each and every single drop leaving the veins, slipping through pink flesh and reddening fabric, attracted by force of gravity to the fellow trickles and pulling itself to the ground in a steady beat. A pulse outside of a body, a rhythm in echo wth the faltered breathing and choked sobs._

_What a sweet, sweet music to his ears._

“ _Oh my god, Minami, I beg of you!”_

_His feet bring him closer in the direction of the body, reaching out towards the extended hand. He raises his own in response, fingers clutching a torn card to the pint the corners have dug into his palm and etched a new web of lines interwined with his own natural lifelines._

_The knife resting in the palm of his hand is the only god he knows._

  
  


_[Don’t go anywhere.]_

_(Hey.)_

  
  


His nails, he notices, have dug into the flesh of his palms deep enough to leave crescent-shaped indents. The hot water's strangely relaxing effect, added to the cacophony thumping inside his head, has left him too numb to focus on the pain. The mark becomes an open wound and even as it draws blood, Minami's eyes only follow the trail crimson droplets take, plunging into the pink water and blooming atop the rose water. They disperse themselves as soon as they come, washed down the drain.

 

_[Fasten it tightly, til you could throw up, so there aren’t there aren’t any people here.]_

  
  


Like poppies, a voice pipes in his brain. Alive for a day, then gone tomorrow.

Just like humans.

 

_[Nice results, huh? Hey hey, aren’t I a good kid?]_

 

He exits the cabin and lifts his hand in front of his face, bringing it to the mirror next to the stall. The temporary crimson hair dye he used on missions has left his fingers tinted as if he's dipped them in a can of paint.

 

These days, he doesn't bother putting on gloves to dye his hair or using cottonballs and makeup remover to wipe the blotches of red and white caked on his face after a long night.

 

_[Aren’t I a cute kid? Hey hey, I’m good, right?]_

 

He touches a finger to his lips, chases the movement of the tip as it traces the remnants of wine red that formed a perfect line on his mouth only hours ago. A blunt slip on one side smears cosmetic beyond the left corner of his lips. His finger presses flush on his cheek, and he repeats the motion faster on the other side, smudging the right cheek with a wider, paler line that still burns bright under the bathroom led.

 

_[It hurts, hey]_

 

Maybe he _should_ start investing in better cosmetics. If only to stop looking like he just stepped out of a freak show. He knows himself to resemble such a specimen out of overhearing the people coming by the orphanage, the same ones who come to adopt and yet whisper behind his back. They say a lot of things, mostly about how he does'nt strike anyone as a fit role model for the children he teaches at the small college. Some even go as far as saying things along the lines of him trying to find a family that will love him through his work. Someone who who will appreciate him in spite of his antics and queer physique. About what a child he is. On the outside he gives them the smallest polite smile he can msuter. On the inside he's dismembering them and cutting inch by inch with a dull saw. See how pretty they'd look with red decorating their faces.

Minami may be naïve, but he isn't so stupid as to not know what others have to say about him.

 

_[Love me.]_

  
  


But then, Yuuri _did_ say red suited him, didn't he?

  
  


_[Love me.]_

  
  


“ _There my little puppet, I'll show you how to do it.”_

_Minami's wide eyes remain fixated on Yuuri's face and hands as they remove the cap atop the lipstick, the color slowly popping out of its tube like a pointed needle, threateningly long and crimson. He shivers at the thought of it pressing against his lips._

_As if sensing his inner dilemma, Yuuri – or rather, the Puppet Master as he'd introduced himself the first time (he really ought to get it in his head by now, stupid stupid stupid) – smiles at him reasurringly, warm brown eyes crinkling from underneath his lace mask._

_Minami almost flinches when Yuuri raises his hand, and scrunches his eyes shut tightly in expectation of a slap or a blow far worse. Surprise almost makes him pull back when instead, the vigilante carresses his cheek as if cajoling a scared, wild animal._

_He lets himself be manhandled, Yuuri's hand propped under his chin and fingers raising it higher. This time Minami doesn't jump when the lipstick fills the distance between himself and the other man. The tip, spotless a second ago and almost so silky he could have sworn seeing his reflection in it, dissolves as it brushes his cupid's bow, then bends in accord with the curve of his upper and lower lip. Yuuri never once takes his eyes off his work, focusing hard on getting his apprentice's mouth perfectly shaped. His touches are slow though deliberate, a painter's brush strokes on a blank canvas._

_If such is a muse's occupation, then he wouldn't mind having Yuuri's eyes on him anytime._

  
  


_[Love me, more and more.]_

  
  


And yet he also insisted that personal hygiene remained a capital matter.

  
  


_[Love me. Love me, so much that it’s maddening.]_

  
  


_For the umpteenth time, Minami messes with his lipstick. It had started out as it usually did in these situations: out of curiosity he'd probed at the sticky substance spread across his lips in a perfect circle, finding it a little itchy despite the smoothness of the applied cosmetics under his now smeared finger. He doesn't need to look at the mirror to know that he looks like a mess.They haven't even gotten started on his hair for the day, and yet there's no doubt he already makes for a vision in red._

  
  


_[It’s painful, it hurts.]_

  
  


_Yuuri sighs in fond exasperation by his side, if the telling smile that makes its way to his lips is any giveaway. It sends his heartbeat going at a faster pace, having this smile dedicated to him, and him only in this moment ..._

  
  


_[Undo undo the curse, okay?]_

  
  


“ _Hey, isn't that my lipstick?” Yuuri raises an enquiring eyebrow. “The shade looks familiar.”_

“ _It is!” Minami exclaims. “You gave it to me when I first started as your assistant.”_

“ _I did? My, my, was that long ago...” Yuuri muses, hand propped under his chin and inching closer to Minami._

_His hand then reaches for Minami's, while the other comes up to carress his jaw in a soft manner. Mnami feels his cheek heat up under his teacher's knuckles._

“ _I must say, my little one, it suits you very well. Though you probably already knew that.” Minami's breath catches at the compliment and sincere compliment, but he has no time to muster a “thank you” before Yuuri pulls him in for a kiss, and he reacts of his own will once their lips brush. The flavor of the flowery paste invades his mouth and melts with Yuuri's own minty and sweet taste._

“ _Oh, poppet” Yuuri whispers when they break apart, breathless and panting in each other's ears, “I'll make a bonfire out of that spark of yours.”_

  
  


_[It can’t be stopped.]_

  
  


_Red carries memories and images that Minami shall never forget, the kind burnt in a corner of his brain, always there but never really. The scarlet fringe that falls into his eyes, the sole untainted reminder he has of his dark days. The flames burning in the hearth of Victor Nikiforov's home at every gathering, eternally burning come what may. The blaze shortening his breathing, chocking him, almost licking his body with unbearingly strong heat._

“ _It's okay, you're gonna be okay.”_

_He succumbs to darkness in the arms of a dark angel._

_He won't die._

_Not today._

  
  


_[It hurts now, it’s not enough now.]_

  
  


The temporary hair dye has washed away, Minami's once fiery red hair fading back to its original flaming, marigold hue. Though the strands are slowly regaining their strawberry blond shade under the bathroom light, rose liquid still beads on the half fringe falling on his left eye, forming scarlet tears that trickle down his cheek.

  
  


_[People aren’t people aren’t enough.]_

  
  


“ _You'll leave me, won't you?”_

  
  


_[I won’t lose to anyone in my class.]_

  
  


_His sobs are delving into dangerous territory. As much as he wish he could stop that big mouth of his from opening itself and sputter nonsense, he can't stop. What had first been repressed tears have turn to openly hysteric screaming and crying. His throat and face burn under the combination of neon lights and raw anger._

  
  


_[Aren’t I a lovely good kid?]_

  
  


“ _Just say it already! Say it! SAY IT!”_

  
  


_(Hey.)_

  
  


_Yuuri isn't replying – or could it be he isn't here at the moment? The Puppet Master's personality hardly ever strays far away from Yuuri's own, but he knows better than anyone what it takes to get him to blow a fuse._

_When his mind comes into focus on this one single thought, Minami's brain shortcircuits. Shit. He just went all out on Yuuri, of all people, in a situation where he wasn't being_ Yuuri _. He suddenly found himself praying for survival._

  
  


_[More than that kid, more than any kid. Everyone come look at me.]_

  
  


“ _Joker...”_

“ _DON'T “JOKER” ME!” Minami snaps, then promptly slaps his hands to his mouth. Oh fuck fuck fuck now he's gone too far now he's lost it and Yuuri's gonna hurt him hurt him hurt him –_

“ _Joker.” Yuuri's hand claps his shoulder in a tight grasp that shakes him awake from his daydreaming._

“ _My little trickster...c'mere”. Minami finds himself wrapped into Yuuri's arms._

  
  


_[Was it kind of a lie?]_

  
  


“ _Come on over then.” he encourages without force, rubbing his back for good measure in slow, small circles. “Cry all you need, I'm right there for you. I'm not going anywhere, okay?”_

_Tears stream silently on Minami's cheeks, the sobs building at the back of his throat not to far away now. He succumbs to Yuuri's embrace, burying himself deeper into his hold._

  
  


_[I like you, you who are so filthy]_

  
  


“ _Who am I to you?” Yuuri asks him one day, when they're facing each other._

_A thousand words come to mind, interwined in sentences Minami is positive no language can render beautiful or meaningful enough._

_His only response, the most logical that comes to mind, is to shrug, giving him his trademark lopsided grin and saying: “What's a Joker without his Queen? I'll tell you.”_

_He breaks the distance that separates them in a heartbeat, using one of the ropes he'd bought from a joke shop and customized to his taste – a subtle reference that, surprisingly enough, didn't go unnoticed. “Nothing.”_

  
  


_[It’s not enough,]_

  
  


“ _Master! Master, look!”_

_Yuuri sighs. “Puppet, how many times have I told you not to call me that?”_

“ _I know, I know, but look, look! I made us assorted cards for my new deck. What do you think?”_

_Truth be told he had only made two cards to replace their predecessors, but the prospect of aligning the rest of the package with the brand new ones was a tempting project._

_The cards are beautiful. Polished and brand new, depicting on one Yuuri's newly acquired indigo costume and Minami's own three-piece, gold and carmine suit; with the exception that Yuuri wore a golden crown encrusted with rubies atop his head, whereas Minami had on a glittery, purple jester cap up on._

_Minami rushes to show them to Yuuri, but in his haste he almost flings them straight into his palm, and barely avoids cutting it when –_

  
  


_[you’re not enough.]_

  
  


_Blood oozes from the tiny papercut. Though the cut isn't deep, Minami is close enough to watch the copper fluid beading from the tip of Yuuri's finger. They both stare as his blood seeped from the fingertip and dropped in the middle of Yuuri's own card, now baptized with its inspiration's essence._

  
  


_[I won’t let go.]_

  
  


“ _Yu – Master” he hushes, breath tightening at the back of his throat and forming a ball that threatens to choke him. In his panic he'd almost let out that he knew about his true identity._

  
  


_[I’m so sorry.]_

  
  


_Yuuri waves him off, smiling reassuringly. “It's fine, Puppet. See? Just a papercut.” Yuuri brings the fingers to his lips, sucking in the trickle of blood descending on his finger. Minami unconsciously holds his breath at the sudden intake of air and fluid, the suction producing an almost inaudible and obscene sound._

  
  


“ _Besides,” Yuuri reflects, coming closer until their faces are inches apart, “I am sure you can make it up to me, can you?”_

  
  


_[This is happiness,]_

  
  


_"Puppet..."_

_Later on, he drinks in the sight of Yuuri sprawled under him. His lips swollen from kisses, his ruby-coloured lipstick bleeding at the corners of his mouth. Cheeks flush and burning. Skin tattooed with bruises and handprints, soft to the touch and body pliant under his hands._

  
  


_[This is happiness.]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send your love to my saintly muse @yuuriharemheadcanons.  
> Pelt me in the face, buy me a coffee, ask for my hand in marriage @allollipoppins.


	7. Eros - Хозяин

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kreuzxherz asked: Hello. I've been thinking. Can you do an Eros POV story from his creation, his personal development to the part where finally meet Yuuri when you have the time? Just think about it. No pressure :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ":)" part kills me everytime. Like, how sadistic are you to ask me for tragedy and add a smile? XD  
> Songs I listened to while writing this: there is this playlist on spotify (not mine) called super ＰＳＹＣＨＯ love, my favorites to replay were Bad Company by Five Finger Death Punch; End of Me by Ashes Remain. One song I also had in mind for the chapter, which also gives it its title, is Хозяин by NIKITA. This song is in Ukrainian and basically means "Master", and I initially wanted to articulate the chapter around it because of, well, obvious reasons. The chapter turned out darker than originally planned, but if you want to stay in the sexual, dark and obsessive side of the chapter it's a must (kinda nsfw videoclip below):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yl-OPRCK38&list=PLF2C162818C04498E&index=8  
> This is meant to be a backstory, but as per usual you can conclude what you want (because I am this vague and don't know how to write backstories). I have a Ruthless Gold backstory planned for afterwards, plus mountains of projects to come. Though I have found my rythmn between work, rest (which I am getting plenty of) and writing, I can't promise the next chapter will come quick. Chances are I'll get a new work schedule next week & my family is coming to see me in the days to come, hope you'll understand and happy reading :)

To bear one's mind, body and soul was a man's greatest struggle. To be born with only a functioning mind and body in the human world, for lack of a soul, was every bit as worse, if not a greater torture.

Humans answer first and foremost to primal needs. Necessities that are essential to mankind, unless it should be on the edge of extinction. In order to survive, to thrive, humans must eat, drink, sleep. Keep going, keep moving, until the day they shall disappear off the surface of the earth. Everything else, all of these supposedly life-changing means that should be held in account – love, friendship, sex, many more out of many others – is just bullshit.

So Eros hunts. He feeds off the blood he sheds, the flesh he tears, the screams he rips from his preys' chests along with their hearts and lungs.

For a prey, after all, is a prey. Regardless of their name, appearance, sex, age, no matter what factors may play at hand. For they're never victims.

The world as he knows it is a gigantic hunting fest.

Until the day he feels the connection for the first time.

  


* * *

  


Rumor has it Yutopia Akatsuki doesn't run itself on its own. Word in Hasetsu is that the inn is under the control of a higher authority than the Katsuki family itself. Some whisper that the Yakuza has made the onsen their headquarters; others say that the Katsuki matriarch and patriarch made a deal with the devil in the dead of night, long before their son's departure to America. Because no leisure place in town could still stand where others had failed and fallen before.

 

What no one could possibly imagine, however, was that the resort had a guardian angel watching over it.

The kind that didn't nor would ever belong in the ranks of the holy.

 

 

* * *

  


His first minutes as a sensible, conscious entity are spend in a dumpster at the back of a Japanese onsen, in a darkened alley that had seen better days since the decrease of tourism. A lone, naked form laid amid plastic bags, shielding him from the sight of rare passersby.

Eros, as he would later be named, was never born nor bred, not made nor created. He was always there, a presence that melted into the background but bore no name or appearance. Unackowledged but far from invisible, unnoticed but always there.

Minutes away from his awakening, he becomes aware of a few things. One of them being the pull of the power living, breathing inside his veins. The bloodlust coursing through his veins, making his skin and bones ache in an almost canine, irritating though fulfilling manner all at once. It is there, right under his skin and grazing its surface, drawing strings from his fingers. He is born unapologetic, unleashed and hanging onto no thread. Or so he believes.

His first coherent thoughts, not yet articulated coherently in the shape of words, glow dimly but grow insistently in the shadows, overshadowing them.

There's something missing.

From the moment he had come to existence, long before materializing into a human-shaped entity, Eros was but a bundle of nerves. An entangled mess once deeply rooted inside the heart, body and soul of a nameless creator whom he'd never gotten the opportunity to meet. The very same person who had gone and abandoned him, leaving him to defend himself against the clutches of this realm he had initially no power against. A grenade on the brink of detonation, safety pin half removed and seconds away from exploding. A bag of nerves sewn together by pins and needles that threatened to give away any time soon.

What little he knew of birthrights and genetic inheritance, was as much as he supposed his creator knew.

For he knows many things. Maybe more than the average human being, something he prides himself of. The knowledge his creator has was already instilled within his brain from birth. What little else there was to find out was his to take into his own hands. Here was a power he could turn into a counterpart of his own master's, or at the very least use against his progenitor's kin.

Other facts come to him more readily. One being that he is beautiful. What he knows of beauty he had learned from the eyes of the dead, their beholders having once marveled at the mere sight of him standing before them in his glory, then over their corpses as he dug into them avidly. Human predictability and lack of subtleness was a force to reckon. Eros often took immense pleasure in watching the human mind betray its hold on the body.

Not that he could care less about humanity's skewed perception of attractiveness and beauty canons, nor would he let himself be affected by them. The only elegance he has eyes for lies in dark features and wine-colored eyes akin to spilled blood.

But when he gazes at his reflection in the mirror of his creator's room, he wants to rip his own skin apart with his nails. To destroy what he sees and feel the glass cut into his knuckles when he takes a hit, and another, and another, until he can't feel his hands and only sees red. Only then does his beauty represent not a strength, but an inheritance. A cover he is weak to, in spite of the bitterness it brings about whenever he thinks of the person who gave him this body.

His body calls for a nameless lover who never affords him kisses or touches, who brings him pleasure only through their barely-fed connection. A link so thin he might as well be treading on the tread of a spider's web, scarcely there and on the brink of fading into dust.

He shouldn't be experiencing this: need. Unspoken, irrepressible evidence of the traces of humanity that inhabit his body. This unquenched thirst that knew no bounds nor end.

Not when he's constantly locking horns with whoever this is who is controlling him from a distance.

Rage always boils inside him whenever he is forced to surrender the full extent of his power – why would this person, this supposed twin of his, willingly decide to keep his force - their force – under control? Why should someone else, a complete stranger, have unquestionable authority over him, like the rest of the scum that think they can take him on? Why should he let himself he kept in chains, subdued by another's pull?

In these moments he is all too much made aware of his own enslavement. The drive to scream, to howl and give in to his repressed pulses stays contained once _he_ tugs at his invisible collar. Even in his moments of glory, when he gives in to his blood bath, he's never fully unhinged. The mecanism that is his body stops working its gears automatically, the puzzle pieces fitting together seamlessly won't meet their twin paper corners smoothly. As if one were hanging treats in front of a dog and moving them in front of its snot, pretending to hand it over before retrieving them back with a smirk.

And so comes forth the perpetual thread, this string pulling at his limbs, the atune realization and remembrance that he is connected to his creator.

His master.

His other half.

But he would show him. He could show him. If this person wouldn't be the one teaching this old hound new tricks, then he would him just what exactly he was capable of.

How, though, was the question.

How indeed, when he was at the hands of his weakness.

His fingertips seek into the darkness and find mementos he'd later wish he had burnt before they could consume his entire being. They feed his thirst and his hatred, but also fuel another feeling he has yet to put a name on. He could – he can, he should, he must – but he won't. By now he is accustomed to the way his guts clench and his eyes burn in response to these discoveries he treasures more than should be appropriate for someone … something like him.

His only release lies in the pictures of the boy – no, man, only a man could drive him so to madness –, few but present, that adorn the shelves of the tiny inn along with the lonely childhood pictures he found buried inside a cardboard box, hald-torn and faded.

In the span of his lonely days in Hasetsu, his brain fills in the gaps of companionship with words he had never used before, words he could have sworn he would never let himself be polluted by. Words he had sworn to ban from his vocabulary.

The walls know him and his despair; misery loves company and his company has the decency of being silent and keeping the other residents at bay.

The only company he knows is his own.

Maybe it was for the best.

  


* * *

  


His fist connects with the tied man's cheek once, twice, too many times for him to keep count. The regularly-paced though brutal assault of flesh on flesh is addictive, dowright satisfying.

The other's skin is turning red, the burst veins spilling underneath the once pale expanse of flesh, blood expanding through his face and gushing from newly-opened wounds. A red rash spreads like wildfire across the man's face, until a face there is no more. The traits that once identified this being as human have swollen, puffing up and turning into a panel of unappetizing colors. Blue, purple, green and black mar what was once a face, morphed into the likeness of a tumor rather than that of a man.

He's almost tempted to empathize. Him, the embodiment of a rash, a mad dog kept on a leash, a hellhound that ascended from the deepest pits of Inferno, left to his own devices without a master.

His teeth almost ache to dig into the exposed flesh, to mark the remains as his handiwork in his own macabre, unidentifiable signature.

His sole focus remains his current position – that of domination.

He imagines the motion is similar to that of the average person managing to single-handedly crush a mosquito between their fingers. After spending such a long time struggling against an enemy so little yet so cunning, one can't help but feel satisfaction when the parasite finds itself beaten to a pulp in a single swat. The squelch of fat compressed under his bones, the impact connecting the appendages to the cheekbones sends him on a high without name.

He wonders for a fleeting moment what it feels like, to come undone at the hands of suffering. At least the physical kind. Though others have grazed his own form with knuckles and feets, the touches – for touches they remain in the end, however brief they may be – don't affect him. To this day, he is immune to hits and cuts. And yet, this cannot be the epitome of agony. Surely, the people he lashes at can't know what true pain is like. What others suffer at his hands alone, he bears a thousand times harder in the absence of …

Him.

He goes for the next swing, pulling his arm backwards and packing his strength inside his fist when he sees it. Right there, in the corner of his eye. Fingers of the other hand still seizing the man at the collar, he lets his fists hang in the air, poised for the next attack.

He almost makes a double turn when he finds himself face to face with himself.

But no, it isn't himself.

It can't be.

Unless...

There is only one explanation.

Despite the shadows swallowing them, he catches _his_ eyes and the look inside them without fault. Wide and slightly dilated pupils stare back at him, flushed cheeks contrasting with the paleness of his cheeks.

There it is. The silent reminder that, in spite of being an independent conscience, he stayed attached to only one being in the whole of existence. This longing, this palpable absence always lingering at the back of his mind. The mute desire to howl. To scream. To say, you come here. You come back to me, right where you belong. Choose me, and only me. Love me. Like it's just the two of us against the rest of the world, like it should fucking be.

His first and last exception, if not his only.

Somehow, this wretched bond of theirs has reached completion.

There you are, part of him muses. I've been looking for you since forever.

The other half of his brain screams a single world loud enough for his animalistic senses to hear.

Run.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spread the love with my muse @yuuriharemheadcanons  
> Feedback is appreciated on all platforms! @allollipoppins
> 
> (I'm said muse- hellos. Requests are loved but please keep the nsfw ideas on the downlow for now . The amazing author of this series is old and needs breaks. Thank you.)


	8. Dysfunctional family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Victor and Yuri's lives and thoughts pre-Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this chapter was meant to be longer - with actual backstories, anecodtes and whatnot. But as it was, I kind of hate it. The more I wrote, the more I realized that as much as I love Victuuri I don't... like Victor that much? Don't get me wrong, he's still a very inteersting character, but he's not my favorite (Yuuri has that place).  
> I'm days away from going back to France, and chances are I'll be focusing on finishing other works in priority. If you have ideas for the next chapter they are most welcome of course.  
> \- If you have time, please check out my other fic "Folie à plusieurs". I meant for it to be a fic dump of sorts, but the more I think of it, the more I want to merge it with BIYAAMAYD - or at least the Victuuri chapter. Drop by and comment if you can, it always gives me pleasure to see comments or ideas :)  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11470947/chapters/26219829  
> \- for those of you who have wattpad AND can read Spanish, I'm taking part in the Otayuuri week starting Sunday. Check out my work :)  
> https://www.wattpad.com/story/118777768-fools-in-love-otayuuri-week

Once, putting a smile on Victor Nikiforov's face was a privilege. One that came more than often with thousands – millions, billions – of dollars in his name, and a permanent place within the Nikiforov's inner circle. Now, depending on the occasion, it became a signature, a trademark of his. An oath to hurt others, rather than to aid them.

The surprise Victor Nikiforov's henchmen collectively showed when their boss started to smile again was, as such, most understandable. It varied from his usual ones, the rare few that sometimes dared to cross his lips, sarcastic or cold twists of his mouth rather than amiable ones.

The surprise, not alarmingly so, quickly morphed to fear as it often did in his presence.

Lilia Baranovskaya and Yakov Feltsman, sat at the same table, would be lying if they said they weren't perplexed by the situation. Yuri Plisetsky, on the contrary, was far from impressed.

“Disgusting, really. It should illegal to be this happy.”

“Language, Yuri.” Lilia admonishes without too much bite, tiredness seeping into her tone.

They're used to this, by now. Non-family family dinners with only the four of them, trying and failing to fake peacefulness while they eat and try to talk about the events of the day. Mila and Georgi are still at work

“Now now, Yura, no need to be to condescending!” Victor brushed him off with a wave of his hand, too focused on the task at hand to bother turning fully to face him.

“It's unbecoming of you, being so sentimental. Did I miss an episode while you were out going berserk?”

Victor shakes his head, still smiling his trademark hreat-shaped smile and taking bites of his piroshki every now and then.

“Could we please,” Yakov started in a long-suffering, stern voice, “just have a normal family dinner for once? At least just for this week?”

“I believe that would be asking for a lot,” Lilia sighed in an equally tired voice, biting into a piroshki.

 

* * *

 

They reunited in Victor's bedroom later on. Yuri had sneaked in minutes after dinner had been over, grumbling that his cat wouldn't stay in his room. Georgi and Mila had followed minutes later, the first to complain about his girlfriend's antics – Anastasia? Alice? Anna? Victor could never remember – and Mila coming in for the rescue should it be needed. Though there was palpable change in their brunet cousin's behavior. He seemed slightly more composed, down to earth in spite of the amount of work his soaring fashion brand was accumulating. Georgi didn't spend so much time talking about the other woman either. His voice still held a dreamy edge, though it didn't sound as melancolic as before. Rather pensive, they thought so. But the three Russians silently agreed with a collective nod not to breach the subject further. Everyone knew not to get too involved in Georgi's love problems.

 

Somehow the atmosphere in the room seemed more relaxed than usual. Victor pondered on it as they all slumped on his bed or on the floor, exchanging pleasantries. Not that there had ever been any kind of tension existing between them, no more than the usual fights cousins got up to. But the more he thought about it, the more it appeared to Victor that he was enjoying their presence. He smiled lazily at that, something which didn't go amiss.

 

When was the last time Victor Nikiforov smiled like that? As far as everyone knew, his lifestyle had always worked under a protocol. Smile for the camera. Mentally and wordlessly tell your brain to move the muscles of your face. Pull at the corners of your mouth without using your fingers to do so, like you did as a child when you wanted to stick your tongue out at the journalists, the maids, the nannies, everyone, except this time you can't use your fingers because they should be aligned with the rest of your body, or tucked inside the pockets of your trousers like Yuri does, even though he's been told relentlessly that it's impolite to do so, and especially improper for someone of his age and status.

 

He remembered his sixteenth year out of the blue, the day they'd erected a giant statue of him and Yuri in a national park not too far away from the house. He and Yuri had had to stand before it, Uncle and Aunt Kasun by their side with their arms wrapped around them and a hand squeezing their shoulder every now and then. Cameras surrounded them as they posed for pictures, Lilia and Yakov keeping a respectable distance several feet away from their masters. Victor has no doubt that by the end of the night, their picture – this, and every single one that should have been taken of the day and by everyone and anyone from professional photographers and fleeting admirers – should appear in every signle newspaper in the world. It will be one for the books, something for the people to look at when they wake up and read the news and see them on the front page; something to see on the workers' way to labor on the walls, on their television screens for the few who can afford them; something to listen to on the radio, something to talk about to their wives and their children and their coworkers and about anyone they'll pass by on the streets. Something to ponder on when they'd stick stamps on their envelopes and think “Oh, but how splendidly the American Dream is faring!” Because apparently the world has nothing else to do save watching their every move. Staying focused on their lives from the outside.

 

Victor had told as much to Uncle Kasun nights later – or was it on the same day? The date never mattered so much anymore, no more than the memory of his last meaningful words addressed to their adoptive caretaker.

Yuri had snorted when he'd recalled the outburst later on, probably finding him very ridiculous and overdramatic; not that he could blame him as he was like that most of the time. “Just cheer up, old man. The cameras pay you to smile, don't they?”

This was as much encouragement as he would get from Yuri, and as expected it did little to no good at all.

 

* * *

 

“ _Master Kasun – ”_

“ _THAT IS NOT MY FUCKING NAME!” Victor explodes, face turning with the impulsiveness of an enraged, untamed animal._

_He must have been a frightful sight, but he couldn't care any less even if he wished for it._

_His ragged breathing tears at the silence descending upon the room. Eyes all around track his movements in anticipation of his next outburst, no doubt._

“ _My name,” he starts in a self-assured voice that comes out as a snarl, “is Victor Alexey Nikiforov”, he articulates every name with preciseness, the gruffness of his Russian accent underlying every word, “and I'm here to take back what is rightfully mine.”_

“ _And that would be, sir?” one dares to speak up._

_His audacity only makes Victor chuckle darkly, sending shivers down the henchmen's back as some take a step back. “My name, for one instance. My crown. And my city.”_

“ _That is enough, Victor.”_

_He stiffens as his uncle makes his presence known in the room. But his arrival unnerves him more than it quietens the rage boiling inside him. He waves his hand around, a silent order for everyone to leave the room. The henchmen promptly rush out, away from their master's fury._

_Uncle Kasun sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before regaining calm and advancing towards Victor. “You can't keep going like that, Victor, my son. Not like that.”_

“ _DON'T CALL ME THAT.”_

_He huffs, almost on the verge of tears. Sadness, exhaustion or anger, he's not sure anymore which is which. “Don't make me into a hero, djádʹka. Don't make me into someone I'm not just for the sake of the people."_

_"Oh, Victor..." his uncle moves to hug him but he pushes him away with one swift elbow jab._

“ _These people... they're yours, not mine. They like the idea of me, but they don't love me. If they only knew what I am truly capable off, would they worship me half as much as they do now?”_

_He continues with a hitch in his voice that he tries to ease off as he goes on, gaining a little more confidence with every word. “And – and what if I don't want them to? I've even lost the taste of people smiling back at me, can you believe it? Some days I just want to rip the smiles off their faces, see if they like it when you're forced to laugh.”_

“ _One day you won't be there any more, djádʹka. Isn't this how history goes? The old king dies, long live the king! The king dies, long live the queen! Your time will come, don't you forget that.”_

_His uncle raises an eyebrow, surprised at his delcarion. “Are you trying to threaten me?” He, for one, isn't retaliating and it pisses off Victor to no end._

“ _I don't wish so much to threaten you as to remind you of your place. For when the time is right, this world will retrieve their lost king, and I shall bring forward their rightful queen once I find them.”_

_Uncle Kasun rolls his eyes, used by now to Victor's antics and moodswings. “You've gone completely mad, Vitya.”_

“ _It's only fair. Don't you have Auntie by your side? A king's nothing without his queen, but a fool. Why do you think they always come in pairs? Chess, cards, battlefield. In the end she's the sole protector he needs.”_

“ _How can you be so sure you'll find her? You said it yourself to me not so long ago, didn't you? There are no saints here. Either you're a sinner or you're good at hiding it, there's no inbetween. And even them, you find normal people to be such a bore...”_

“ _Rest assured. The day I'll find the one, I'll be sure to call you.”_

 

* * *

 

Victor choose the moment companiable silence settles in to break it. “Hey.”

“What?” His cousins raise their heads in question. It's not Victor's type to ask before getting everyone's attention, so having him call out for theirs is quite new.

“Remember what Uncle Kasun used to say? About being a hero?”

As a matter of fact, their relative had had a lot of things to say on the matter, and still did in fact on a regular basis.

As he enunciates the words loud and clear, he knows without looking at his cousins that they are hearing them in their uncle's voice, a steady and gentle flow of words held in earnest in everyone's heart, be it theirs or anyone else's, strangers to relatives alike.

“Being a hero means putting others before you. Not because you lack enough self-worth to put yourself beneath the rest of the world, but because you recognize that you have enough self-worth and good inside you to wish to protect the same humanity you know to be inside everyone else.”

“I think I finally understood what he meant. Just... not in a similar context.”

This surprises his audience, who draws a collective breath. Victor relishes the impression he gave them, the huff of surprise and incredulity. “Wait... but I thought you were done with being a hero?” Mila and Geogi chorus.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Yuri snarls, hands tightening into fists as he gets up to face Victor. “After everything we've done, after all we've been through, what the hell is going on in that thick head of yours?”

Victor raises a hand to silence them. Everyone sits back, half-guarded and expectant of his next words.

“Oh I'm not going back on my word, don't worry about that. But I've been thinking recently...”

“Can't be good if you just started,” Yuri grumbles. Victor sends him a chilly smile that silently tells him to knock it off. Yuri complies with a grumble.

“What do you want, then?” Mila asked, hands propped on her knuckles, looking genuinely interested. “What is it that the great Victor Nikiforov could possibly want, out of everything in the world?”

“All I want is for someone to remember me as I am. The darker the better. Besides,” he lingers, “I made a promise to Uncle Kasun long ago, and now I intend to fulfill it.”

 

* * *

 

“What brought this on, anyway?” Yuri asks later before leaving the bedroom. The others have long since retired to their quarters, but an unanswered question still hovered in the air, the why and the what – or rather, the who.

“The queen has finally entered the courtroom, is what.”

Yuri sights in an exhausted manner, as if he'd heard that story a thousand times before – which, as a matter of fact, he had. “Come on, not again with that!”

“Why?” Victor enquires. “Am I not the king of Detroit?”

“You wish! No need to get your panties in a twist over such a stupid nickname, idiot. Just because a journalist named you that doesn't mean it's true.”

“As far as I am concerned, you're just a boy.”

“And if I am indeed a boy, what does that make you?” Victor retaliates without bite, rather teasingly. After all, Yuri remains almost ten years younger than him. But in spite of his cherubic appearance and size he is nonetheless very wise for his age. Almost terrifyingly so.

“That makes me the guy who will kick your arse right off your throne, your majesty.” Yuri smirks back.

Victor laughs at back, a throaty chuckle that won't escape his lips. “We'll see to that, mladshiy brat.”

“One day you will surpass me, Yuri. And the day you do, they will know your name.”

Not that people didn't already know who he was. Yuri Ivanovitch Plisetsky. The survivor, the last Kasun still alive according to the public eye. The golden prince of Detroit, heir to the empire which he turned his back to in favor of dedicating himself to modelling and making a name for himself in the industry.

Hell knows it will take Victor longer to take back his own.

Yuri's smirk grows wider if possible. Maybe – just maybe – his time had come long ago.

“In that case, you fucking watch me.”

Their fights had yet to be won.

 


	9. Multishipping drabbles part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: angst, blood, implied smut, and description of a panic attack in reaction to the dark. Very dark in general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back :)  
> As you may have noticed, this summer has been a lot about coming up with new fics and less with actually updating more this one. I'm sincerely sorry for the delay!  
> I (allollipoppins) am currently abroad for an Erasmus, which is both cool because I get to spend the morning writing and only have classes in the afternoon... and bad because my current apartment is 30 minutes away by foot with no buses and my classes tend to run late.  
> Like in part 1 of the multishipping drabbles, I'm recycling and updating a lot of prompts and asks you may have seen on the headcanon blog. I'll leave a few notes at the end for explications and context of the drabbles.  
> You'll probably notice that the general tone is darker this time aroung. For a reason: SugarSweetest was on hiatus while I was writing my bit, so I relied on a fellow writer to help me come up with ideas for each drabbles.  
> I'm thinking of writing Yuuri's first meeting with the boys as villains, what do you think? So far we don't really know how we're going to do that, so any idea or other prompt is most welcome! We'd also like to continue the Ritual series and the Lost Boys OS, and I also have ideas for a Victuuri HP au told through "snapshots/drabbles".

  1. **Name – Eros**




 

He baptizes Eros in a river of green, dirty water of questionable origin, long before he even knows who the man stalking his shadow is or will become to him.

Yuuri shouldn't be doing this, and he's more than aware of it. No person in their right mind launches themselves in the water to help the one who threatened to kill them countless times without so much as an explanation.

Except that in the end Yuuri isn't just anyone.

The man struggles against the current and the murky water pulling him from under. Even as Yuuri closes onto him he throws arms and hands all around himself, battling an invisible enemy he can't overcome. He almost hits Yuuri in the wake of his wrestling. Yuuri pushes against his back, fighting himself against the impulse to breathe without oxygen, and wraps his arms around the man from behind. He cradles him in his arms as if he weighed nothing, holds him with as much delicacy as possible to show that he wishes him no harm. As if he were the most fragile thing on Earth. Yuuri pulls them up, lunging for the top with as much force and speed as he can manage with the weight under him pulling him towards the surface, and pushes, _pushes_ , until they break through.

Yuuri gasps as his face comes in contact with the air again and he inhales deeply, in loud gusts. Beside him, the other isn't breathing in his arms. He feels no movement in his arms, under the ribcage where a heart should beat and lungs breathe.

As he recuperates slowly, Yuuri braces himself and rotates the stranger towards him so they can be face to face.

Eyes like puddles of blood stare back at him, brows furrowed, the pupils fully dilated in the darkness, almost filling out the entire eye and giving him a demonic appearance. Except that he doesn't carry an air of animosity. If anything indecisive, hesitant eyes gaze upon him. Eyes full of curiosity that haven't lost their previous spark, a single flame dancing in the depths and ready to shift into a forest fire at any given opportunity.

None of them dares to break the link and Yuuri realizes idly that this man has his hands set on him, almost bracketing his arms in a firm but not tight grip. This was their first time being so physically close to each other, so close Yuuri could feel his own breath against the other's skin.

Yuuri hates himself for looking at him, for contemplating this man – himself, and yet not himself. He could be planning anything behind his back and Yuuri wouldn't be noticing it because of how captivated he is by him. He could kill him in this moment and he wouldn't even know.

"Who are you?" he says, low as if any louder sound could break what passes between them.

The other responds with a voice equally low, but heavier in tone. "Yours."

Months later when he thinks back of the accident, Yuuri knows what to name him.

 

  1. **Vault – Victor**




 

For someone who feeds on manipulating his prey and gets off on their deepest, darkest secrets, Yuuri doesn't like the dark.

Darkness is at once his shelter and his doom, his soothing balm and the knife that cuts into his wounds. For not one can ever full trust the light, can we?

Anyone in their right mind knows that the greatest demons aren't unleashed come nightfall. The mightiest of them live by day, expose themselves to the sunlight and commit their worst deeds where everyone can see. For once you master the art for smuggling before the eyes of the world, you can get away with about everything and anything. Even the most gruesome crime. How certain can you be that your eyes aren't playing tricks on you? How far can you trust the sun, god of everything that lives and breathes on this planet? No one ever looks the same under the light, under the weight of gravity, of angles and shadows.

And yet the darkness that closes him on him in these moments is equally oppressing. It has a weight, that of something tangible in the air, which he could almost reach out to touch if he only knew where to look. Darkness in its purest form has no mercy for the living or the dead. The assurance that no one ever finds their way in the darkness is proof enough of his weakness against the elements, against the world.

After forced blindness comes the noise. The silence deafens him, until there are no holds barred and it lets go of its offsprings. The whispers in the dark, the creaks of rocks under the pressure of the wind, the howling of the passing breeze and his own breath coming in shorter, hectic gasps.

Yuuri has to press his hands to his ears so he won't hear it anymore, and yet the sound still manages to slip between his fingers.

"Do you hear them?" someone – something – hisses. Does it emerge from the confines of his mind, is he imagining it or listening to it?

"The voices, the whispers of the ones who dared to cross me," the voice continues.

"You can hear them too, can you? I knew we weren't so different in that sense..."

He wants to scream, to thrash, to just do something to escape.

"Oh now now, careful. Most people lose their minds after minutes spent in my lair, but you're one of the lucky few. Though I think that if we don't do something about you any sooner you'll become crazy. And we wouldn't like that to happen to you now, don't we Yuuri?"

And then it stops. Yuuri falls to his knees and presses his hands to his throat, coughing and trying to regain use of his lungs.

Footsteps echo in the nothingness, coming straight for him at an excriciatingly slow pace. Yuuri feels rather than sees the smirk and chuckle thrown his way.

"Welome back, my queen."

 

  1. **Crime – Phichit**




 

Would you believe him, if he said that he never really meant to become a part of this?

Maybe, maybe not. Phichit Chulanont was, and will always be a person not to be messed with. He nevers forgets, and he never forgives.

He is at once gifted and burdened by his photographic memory. He never missed a face from the moment they entered his peripheral vision, whether they be a passerby minding their own business and having no connection whatsoever to Phichit, or a recurrent acquaintance.

It is in moments like these that Phichit finds his... relationship with Yuuri to be complicated.

His friendship with Yuuri, Phichit realizes at some point through this whole affair, is a walking contradiction bound to crash and burn.

He never wants Yuuri to find out about this side of him, and yet in spite of all his efforts his Yuuri is already inches deep in mud and blood, has begun to be rotten up to the core like the rest of the apples in the batch. Now it is only a matter of time before he beats them all to their twisted game. If he only knew who hides behind the Ringmaster's mask...

He doesn't want to bring Yuuri further into his world, to corrupt him, to watch him advance in a pool of blood, without shedding a single tear... and yet! Yuuri is a sinful thing to look at, the kind of wingless angel that could drag you to hell with a single look. Once, Phichit had thought that these brown doe eyes of his would make him commit a crime or talk him into hiding a body at three in the morning.

And now look what you've made me do...

But can he really blame him? When he is the only person to wish him the best?

For what is a crime, when his deeds bring joy to the ones he enthralls with his show?

Because deep inside, he still wishes for it. To make a spectacle of Yuuri, to dedicate an exhibition for the whole world to see him, glorious and unleashed before a captive audience, cheering as he launches into his dance of death and ensnares them into his web.

Yuuri deserves recognition. Yuuri deserves only the best.

And really, what are best friends for?

 

  1. **Photograph – Minami**




 

Minami's room is his own little pet shop of horrors.

His fingers brush against the walls, just the tips or the edge of his nails as they trail over the collage that spreads from wall to wall. A mural littered with newspaper scraps, articles and headlines that pave the way for polaroids and black and white photographs, some faded into sepia with the wrinkle of time and space.

His own wide, infinte memory palace filled with pictures of everyone, and anyone. Anyone whom he ever knew in his past life – and the few that haunt his present – , anyone who ever walked over him, any potential target – and the rest of them.

His mother's face cuts against many frames, sharp cheekbones almost peeking out from under the glass securing it in the wood, as if she were about to escape. There's none of him in her, as far as physical looks, but there's more of her that he'd like in him. Like mother, like son, violence knows no mercy when it comes to blood.

She occupies most of the frames, alongside a string of white coats who push Minami forward like a trophy, open sneers locked behind glass; a few brunettes who were unfortunate enough to be pretty and look like younger versions of his matriarch; mugshots of his victims...

Even with his record in mind he can't afford not to honour either of them in his own way.

His latest addition lays in his open palms, waiting to be framed and hung in the best frame, in the best location.

The picture smells new, like varnish, and Minami is almost scared to touch even the corners or brush his knuckles against the sleek surface, in fear of tearing the picture. Yuuri and him stand side by side, Yuuri's hand on his shoulder and himself tentatively placing his own on Yuuri's side. Both are smiling, albeit a little awkwardly for the picture – after all, Yuuri isn't very fond of cameras, even though he's quite the photogenic hero in the eyes of Detroit's journalists. Even when Minami beams by his side, no one can eclipse Yuuri.

 

  1. **Quill – Otabek**




 

Otabek Altin, Yuuri decides a few sleepovers laters, is a man of many surprises.

 

Otabek is a mystery, and luckily for him Yuuri loves nothing more than a good old mystery. The firefighter is a tall glass of water, the kind that makes him thirsty. He has yet to break the ice entirely though. Yuuri would never have thought he'd fall for a guy like him.

 

He reminds Yuuri of the guys one could easily find in Mari's reader-insert, RP fanfictions (mostly of foreign origins, but some are undeniably hers), or Yuuko's Harlequins which he would bet the triplets found despite their mother's best attempts at hiding them, or worse – Seung-Gil's books. Dubious titles like "Burning up", "Red hot" and "Fire for fire" flash before his eyes, and he balks at the realization that _he_ is the one coming up with them. Sadly – or thankfully, he doesn't know whih is which yet – his firefighter doesn't always walk around in only suspenders and loose bunker pants that hang sinfully onto his hips, like he usually does at work.

 

Within weeks of talking Yuuri had found out many things that left him wanting to know more: days after day he added more facts to his slowly-expanding list. Trivia that included Otabek being a deist Muslim who believed in God, the Devil and angels; Otabek thinking Yuuri's copycat Katsudon was the food of gods – this fact alone puts the Kazakh in Yuuri's good books. Otabek being surprisingly, ridiculously proeficient when it came to home economics, Otabek who cooked better than any of his college fellows and knew how to sew and knit. He still had some way to go before becoming a professional, Yuuri mused as he extracted a rather long feather from their shared duvet, but he was definitely getting there.

 

  1. **Punch – Chris**




 

Before he is the Dramatic Assassin, Christophe Giacometti – Chris to the family, the friends and the ones that are more than that – is first and foremost a bar and strip club owner, with a part-time modeling gig on the side. Performer at heart and cocktail chemist with more than a few tricks up his sleeves, Victor Nikiforov's secret best friend – friend, shmend, frenemy on a good day.

Before he is the Puppet Master, Yuuri Katsuki – Yuu-chan to his mother, his ex-crush and his current secret lover – is a teacher at the local orphanage, part-time crime reporter, and full time babysitter to a 5-year-old man. Quite literally.

And for some reason they have both ended up in the same self-defence class, and had the luck to be paired together.

Neither of them is really sure of why he decided to apply for this class in the first place. After all, they know better than anyone in this room how to defend themselves even with broken limbs and heels, should the occasion call for both, and could probably – definitely – kill everyone present in the room in the blink of an eye.

If Chris is half honest with himself he's here to find his next one-night stand – there's just something about these boxer guys, you know? If Yuuri is half honest with himself he just wants to get a little out of his comfort zone and spar with someone who isn't biased enough to grant him victory too easily.

Chris pities the man standing in front of him, and tells himself to go slow. Not only because he stands with shoulders hunched in a very submissive postion and looks like he wishes to be anywhere but here, but also because this is probably not the best place to ask him out on a date when he knows that he's about to beat him to a pulp.

"Your first time?" Chris supplies with a wink and relishes in the way the man opposite him just blushes a deep red and nods hastily.

"Same here, but don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

Except that he doesn't get to, because Yuuri just won't go easy on him in the first place.

Yuuri doesn't pull his punches when he fights, throwing in lunges and kicks that hold a certain dancer' grace to them, managing to both impress and frighten Chris to the extent that he hopes he'll never have to face him in hand-to-hand combat outside of this classroom. Soon enough everyone is gathered around them to see who will finally have the upper hand. Because as taken aback as Chris is, he isn't one to back out of a fight.

He isn't even sorry when after what feels like an eternity, Yuuri flips him to the ground and he ends up on his back, Yuuri's arms blocking his throat and knees bracketing his hips. Yuuri's expression as he hovers atop his sprawled form is a mixture of triumph and exhaustion he wants to kiss away.

 

  1. **X-Ray – Yuri**




 

“Hey, fancy seeing what a douchebag's insides look like, Piggy?”

Yuuri chuckles lowly. “Why kitten, whom am I to refuse when it's asked so nicely?”

"Don't call me that!" Yuri flushes under his mask, a deep pink that goes very well with his complexion and costume, Yuuri decides. The Nimble Fairy is always a pleasure to look at, and is equally enthralling when Yuuri manages to break through his defences. Which is becoming much more of an occurrence these days.

It's hard to stay away from him. As much as he wished he could, there is something burning in Yuri's eyes that draws him out of his comfort zone. The palpable sense of danger keeps pulling him closer, like a moth drawn to a flame he can't look away from. Deep inside, Yuuri knows he should keep his distance before he gets burnt to a crisp.

Or worse, he ponders as Yuri sharpens his knives before his whimpering victim, a man whom Yuuri had also been tracking for some time now and had intended to deliver into the police's hands before the Fairy had sunk his claws into him. As far as their divergent and ambiguous morals went, Yuuri didn't mind being outstripped of a prospective doll. As long as he got to play.

"I might take you up on that offer then," Yuuri considered. Yuri glanced back at him with defiance, tearing his gaze from his prey, before handing his knife wordlessly.

"In that case let me show you," Yuri went for a nonchalant tone but Yuuri knew better than to brush off the giddyness building inside him. The blond stepped back for him to enter his territory, leaving little space for him to slot between the younger man's body and the makeshift operation table. Any inch left from one body to another is lost as the assassin presses against his back, drawing their limbs closer until they mirror each other.

"Here," he whispers, "follow my moves". Yuri takes his hand that holds the knife and leans in, making Yuuri twist until he can fully face the man as he is being held into a tango of their own invention.

Yuuri complies without resistance as Yuri guides his hand upon the man's heaving chest, his sobs hiccuping as the blade lingers of his skin like a carress, tip dipped like a paintbrush prepared for the future masterpiece.

He howls against the gag when the blade breaches skin, a movement that feels gentle with Yuri's hand around his own, lifting him with utmost patience as a red line grazes skin. Yuuri's lids almost droop, relishing in the muffled gasps the man emits, and the Fairy's hitched breath resonating in his ears. Soon his exhales turn to panting as they draw blood in tandem, the red liquid floowing from chest to abdomen, bathing the knife and coating their fingers. Yuuri almost marvels at how warm the substance feels on his knuckles, and he knows Yuri is enjoying it as much as he is.

Yuri suddenly draws back, pulling Yuuri with him away from the screams and the fountain of blood. He gasps at the pull, finding himself face to face with the Fairy's face. He represses a shiver at the cold, unreadable expression on his face.

“Suck it,” Yuri orders, in hope his voice was hard enough for the vigilante not to notice its slight falter.

Yuuri's eyes dart from the bloody claws dangerously hovering in front of his face to the Nimble Fairy's eyes, shining with green fire not once dimmed by the lace covering them.

Without breaking eye contact, Yuuri gets a hold of the blond man's wrist. He gently guides it to his mouth with one hand, pulling it close until his breath ghosts over the hooks and fogs up the slick surface. His tongue timidly breaches his lips and the tip hovers in the air for a few seconds before it presses against the edge of the knives. When Yuri doesn't resist he lets himself ascend, the sharp blade prickling against his mouth but somehow not splitting it as copper fills his mouth and reddens his lips. Some of it drips on his chin but he doesn't stop his trail.

Calculating and cutthroat are the words he uses later to describe his eyes, when the Fairy's rough thrusts inside can barely keep him steady against the wall.

 

  1. **Railroad – JJ**




 

Yuuri finds JJ on the shooting range when he comes by for lunch. When JJ doesn't meet him at his office, punctual as he tended to be, he knows there is only one place where he could possibly be while still in the vicinity.

He passes Otabek as he descends, Otabek tilting his head in his direction as a nod of acknowledgment. Yuuri nods back with a small smile, and continues his way

And here he is, his favorite Canadian cop, teeth gritted and shooting like a madman at the paper assaillant closing onto him. Yuuri has to cover his ears, what with the dry sound of the bullets breaching paper combined with Willy Moon's "Railroad Track" blaring as loud in the background as JJ's phone speakers can. Which is, loud enough for the music to echo through the room. The shots still linger deafly in the air when the barrel is emptied, JJ's harsh breathing filling the space they left.

"You're on edge."

JJ almost jolts in place, then seems to realize where he is when he turns to find Yuuri in the doorway. He mentally admonishes himself for falling out of concentration, especially with so little a distraction as is a newcomer's arrival. Even if it Yuuri coming to see him on the shooting range.

He brushes away his concern, throwing a smile in his direction. "Christ, Yuuri, you almost gave me a heart attack. Didn't hear you come," JJ yells through the sound as he moves to lower the music with one hand, the other still holding his gun securely. That much tells Yuuri that he's not done with training, and that they will most probably have to postpone lunch.

"That's alright." Yuuri shrugs in reassurance, then turns his gaze towards the range of paper dummies lined for the shooting. JJ's most recent, a large shadow printed on cardboard, is littered with more holes than he can count from this distance, even with his glasses on.

JJ is cocky, for sure, and confident in his abilities but he still fits the cop trope Yuuri knows to be universally and almost freely attributed to any law enforcing officer – or at least the good ones. He may be good at what he does, but he remains vulnerable after so long on the job.

"Mind if I try?" Yuuri asks as JJ removes gun shells from the arms.

"Do you know how to shoot?" JJ replies with disbelief. In spite of his hesitation he lowers the gun and lets it hang where Yuuri's hand is. "The basics," Yuuri replies easily.

Yuuri smiles distractedly as JJ presses the gun into his palm, the cool metallic handle soothing against his hot skin. There was a pair of safety goggles and earplugs he could have used on the side, but he decided against them.

The feeling of it, hoisting himself and the gun up in a smooth motion akin to a dance one, as if he and the weapon formed a single body, was eerily familiar. Not that he would ever tell JJ back.

"I've got your back," JJ muttered as he placed himself a few steps behind, hands at the ready to help in steadying him.

"Good," Yuuri says back. As he braces himself and faces the target set to approach at the ready, he knows he knows he won't need it.

 

  1. **Wreck – Seung-Gil**




 

“Absolutely not.” Seung-Gil doesn't bat an eyelash.

His husky's eyes wide eyes move from one to another, from his master's face to his papa's mate (or at least that's how he calls them in his mind. As far as his understanding goes, his papa isn't the only alpha in the Japanese man's life and he's fine with that, as long as he keeps coming to make a smile appear on his master's face – and possibly feed him doggy sweets in the process).

“But Seung-Gil...” Yuuri pouted, and damn Seung-Gil really wants to wipe that pout off his face. Preferably with his lips. In a full-frontal impact. He'd be damned before he lets Yuuri drag him into this little childish game of his.

Except that he doesn't have time to counter before a pillow is thrown at him, and none too gently at all. Looking back at the culprit, he finds Yuuri staring back with a defiant gaze. Come on Seung-Gil, he reads in his dark eyes, I dare you.

With a hunter's stillness, Seung-Gil lifts the pillow at face level, never once breaking eye contact with Yuuri.

“Ah!” Yuuri yelped when he fell back under the impact of the thrown pillow, almost toppling off the bed. When he gets back in a sitting position, Seing-Gil is suspiciusly hovering over him, this time with a cushion in hand.

Yuuri smirks, reaching for a pillow of his own. This is war.

 

  1. **Coin – Georgi**




 

“Remind me again what I'm doing this.”

Yuuri was on the verge of having a panic attack, or fainting, or worse. Worse being making a complete fool of himself in front of a hundred cameras and people and, by proxy, in front of the whole world.

Georgi seems blissfully unaware of his current predicament, squeezing him tightly by the shoulders and almost shaking him out of his seat. Not that Yuuri can't understand his excitement; it is, after all, only Georgi's second show as a assertive and newcoming fashion designer.

“Because, my dear Yuuri, as things go in the world, all is coin and nothing is free”. Georgi leans uncomfortably close to his ears, and he shivers as his best friend whispers: “And also because, you know what people say. Payback is a bitch, ain't it?”

Yuuri is bitterly reminded of the disaster that led him to the backstage, that being of him completely ruining (by accident) the vigilante costume Georgi had crafted for him, coming back to the studio with shreds of the salvaged suit hanging onto him by threads.

He catches the eyes of passing models in the mirror, both males and females who appear quite unimpressed to have him here. This only adds to his discomfort, as he sinks further into his chair in a failed attempt at making himself invisible. But he wouldn't be able to hide even if he tried. Everyone in the room has their eyes set on him. Georgi Popovich's legendary best friend, whose physique they were openly devouring without an ounce of shame, the man with an angel's face but the most wicked moves no human should be able to pull off. Dressed as he currently is, in a black steampunk set complete with stockings, a garter and a sequined corset that shimmers under the spotlights, it is simply impossible not to notice him. A god among men, unapproachable and nothing akin to the fellow mortals awaiting their turn in the crowded room.

Yuuri's turn comes too soon to his liking, and as he swallows back the shot of vodka one model handles him – for there is nothing quite like liquid courage – , Georgi pats him on the back and guides him to the catwalk with a hand on his lower back.

“You show 'em, cupcake.” The Russian kisses his powdered cheek before retreating behind the curtains, flashing two thumbs up.

Yuuri sighs indulgingly, and then turns towards his awaiting audience.

The time has come for the show.

Georgi watches as his audience takes Yuuri in. The Japanese man treads on the catwalk like he was born for it, with measured and confident steps, hips swaying subtly but jutting enough to catch the light.

Yuuri bows, dances, arches to the rhythm, body in tune with the catchy tones as the crowd collectively holds its breath. Yuuri grips at his chest, at the fabric like a madman about to tear them off, losing himself to the flow and savoring the music through his body, pointing his toes and reaching out with his fingers in the air. As he bends, body curved under the light as if offering himself to a nameless god, Georgi lets a traitorous breath escape his lips. His Yuuri is radiant under the starlike glow of the ceiling. Yuuri, shining like the greatest treasure set before the world to see, an untouchable work of art.

 

By the next day he is not surprised to hear all copies of magazines featuring Yuuri have been sold out by the first hour of the morning. And if there are numerous familiar-looking stacks of papers lined in front of Victor and Yuri's bedroom, neither he nor anyone else comments on it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 11 is actually a prequel of Eros and Yuuri's relationship, before they became close to each other. In this drabble Yuuri saves Eros from being drowned (not that he probably needed help in the first place).  
> \- For 12 my cowriter told me that "vault" made her think of a thieves' lair that could be found in Skyrim, and as appealing as the idea was I also wanted to add a side of angst and anxiety to it - that being of Yuuri facing old fears and demons.  
> \- 13 explores the Phichiruu dynamic, given that Phichit wants to keep Yuuri safe from the influence of Eros and Victor (mainly) and his own, though he knows it is already too late.  
> \- 14: my cowriter told me that there was "nothing more painful than keeping pictures of people from the past, as a memento of the ones who hurt you. There is no greater torture."  
> \- 15: a recycled Otayuuri drabble meant to be a standalone fluff but wouldn't go anywhere.  
> (fun fact: my baby Otabek almost didn't make it in this chapter because of a certain person *glares*)  
> \- 16: my cowriter initially suggested writing about drinking punch, or Chris seducing someone with said drink, or Chris punching the person he was seducing. I eventually went for the self-defence class, which was originally reserved for Otabek, but weeeell.  
> \- 17: remix of a submittd preview you can find @ https://yuuriharemheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/159951430853/suck-it-yuri-orders-yuuris-eyes-dart-from-the  
> \- 18: the only thing that rang in my head was Willy Moon's "Railroad Track" and a really cool af Kingsman video. Go figure.  
> \- 19: I was planning on writing a smutty or smut-implying SeungYuu but I just couldn't resist the thought of Seung-Gil caught in a pillow fight.  
> \- 20: Faced with my despair, my cowriter came up with "All is coin and nothing is free" and I honest to god told her "Damn, you're good" because dark feels everyone. Also inspired by a prompt by kreuzxherz whom I hope I satisfied with this sadly short drabble. If you really don't manage to hear Sexy Bitch in the background, feel free to sue me.


	10. Close encounters of a surreal nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Could you write Yuuri's/Puppet Master's first encounters of the 5 villains + Eros?"  
> Prompts found here:  
> http://horrificmemes.tumblr.com/post/156681396336/send-me-restrained-a-number-for-a-starter-in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I know this isn't the 19th of October or even the 9th, but I just couldn't. Get that chapter of my head. And the draft has been sitting around since May. MAY. So I just figured "hey, lets just write it for once and for all, eh?" School is going to take its toll on me soon enough, I can just tell, and I'm moving out in a new apartment next week. As said apartment is currently internet-less until I move in, consider this as a wifi-hiatus gift.  
> This was unbeta'ed as per usual and probably contains enough typos to get me killed, and posted at 1 AM so please bear with me. Neither I nor SugarSweetest own Yuri!!! on Ice.

  1. **Trapped in an attic – Eros**




 

They had come together in blood. It was only fair that they should end just as they started.

When Yuuri came to, it was to the cold floor under his back and darkness pooling in his vision. Blinking alone to clear it out pained him. He winced as the pull of inner muscles contracted at the back of his head, where he had received the blow earlier. His arms felt limp and heavy by his sides, as if they weighted a ton. His fingers dug into cool hardwood and dust as they struggled to pull themselves up, slowly responding to Yuuri's silent command. He managed little more than brushing an arm against the floor, still to weak to properly lift it above more than an inch.

His hand brushed something in the dark, laid out and spread right next to him.

Yuuri realized with dread that is was a body next to him, still warm.

He blindly checked for a pulse when his fingers found a hand, the nerves standing out from under skin and the wrist equally wrinkled from age, but it was already too late for him to do anything.

With difficulty Yuuri raised himself, his legs almost giving out from under him as he pressed his palms to his knees, hunched over himself. He raised his arms, blindly looking for his way out, and yet bumping into nothingness. The palpable silence and lack of objects made him unnerved, more than anything. Yuuri cursed for good measure. If he had nothing to guide himself, then how the hell would he find his way out?

His front finally found a wall after what felt like an eternity, and he pressed himself against it as if it were his lifeline, feeling the rough scrap of cement under his cheek and palm. Still pressed to the mural, he tiptoed to his right, reaching out for a switch. Palm raking the cement, he groped his way forward until he could, finally, sense plastic under his palm, a single rectangle that he hoped would buy him a ticket to freedom.

The sudden surge of light not even seconds after he hit the button made him blink and gasp, almost blinded by the lamp that burnt above him. Yuuri winced behind his fingers, and mentally forced himself to look up and resist.

He gasped in horror, almost tumbling back against the corpse and falling.

Black paint had long tarnished and faded on the walls, looking worse for wear than what one would see in abandoned buildings and ruins.

But this wasn't what had reduced him to silence.

The walls, far from being bare, were covered up to the ceiling in pictures. Thousands of faces stared back at Yuuri, or avoided his gaze, their eyes colored and blurred against paper or rendered dark due to the paper's quality and impression.

It was him. Yuuri eating, Yuuri drinking, Yuuri taking out Vicchan for a walk, Yuuri jotting down notes during classes, Yuuri jogging. Yuuri sleeping, Yuuri showering, Yuuri undressing, Yuuri crossing the road, Yuuri reading the newspapers, Yuuri dancing, Yuuri staring into thin air, Yuuri walking, Yuuri cooking, Yuuri breathing, Yuuri existing.

Yuuri, and Yuuri only.

Steps made themselves heard behind him. Slowly, Yuuri turned towards the doorway, where a single figure loomed. One he would never be able to forget, even if he tried.

He – himself? No, it couldn't be, but if not him, then who? – took a few steps towards him. Paralysed with fear as he was, and knowing how far the other's strength went, Yuuri didn't dare to move.

He had little force left in his body to flinch back against the knuckle that brushed against his cheek.

"Let me win,” the voice whispered reverently. “For this once, let me win."

He didn't resist when the other's lips brushed his own.

This wasn't him.

 

  1. **In a cage – Victor**




 

Victor feels almost sorry for letting him fall head straight into his trap. But he would be lying if he said that he had never considered it. To finally get his hands on Detroit's protector, its greatest champion, and to have him behind bars.

A pang hits him upon gazing at him. The Puppet Master, with his shadow loitering in his wake.

"Could it be, that you are you insane like me?” Victor mutters from his hiding place. “Otherwise, I can't think of any other reason why you would be here."

New men swooped in as soon as the previous ones fell to the ground, trapped under mounts of thread and choked to their deaths. A whole army stood to face them, circling the two as they stood back to back, set to kill.

And yet... the boy was little to unfazed, watzing out of his men's hands and corresponding with his own feistiness. On second thoughts, he mused, the famed puppeteer isn't much of a boy. He's quite the man, to be honest with himself. He was doted with a supernatural, practically unerthly beauty and moved with the grace of a ballerina, and an assassin's lethality.

Victor finds himself holding his breath as the fight begins. His regret soon gives way to a burst that blooms in the depths of his body, warming his stomach and rising in his extremities, a feeling so intense he has to clench his fists to keep from giving himself away to the overthrows of this heat.

Oh, his mind grasped at the reaction. The Puppet Master's wicked smile cut amid the crowd that closed onto him. A diamond in the rough, ripe for the harvest.

So this why Hades abducted Persephone from the human world.

* * *

They completed each other, entangling and meeting each other in a dance of limbs and fists that unfolded strings, strands rising from their palms and flying across the cage to interweave. They spun knots and twists, piercing through their enemies and trapping them in the confines of their web.

And Yuuri loved every minute of it.

In between the Puppet Master's mind-numbing strings and Eros' own sharp enough to slit and strangle, none of his men had stood a chance. As they stood amid the pool of bodies Yuuri exhaled, letting the flow of adrenaline leave his body. His chest still heaved, heart beating at a dizzying pace that he hadn't ridden in some time. He giggled a little, feeling like a child on Christmas day. Giddy and accomplished.

Eros shook him out of his reverie as he tugged none too gently at one of the strings that still linked Yuuri's body to one of the corpses.

"Eros," Yuuri admonished, sending his companion a warning glare.

Eros merely smiled back, a falsehood of innocence that tugged at the corners of his lis mouth.

"Apologies, my master," he breathed in a soft voice, though Yuuri was more than aware that Eros was far from sorry for his actions.

Sensing his master's discomfort, Eros leaned against him, the hand previously touching the string now wrapping around his wrists in a tight grip. He briefly looked up to meet Yuuri's unimpressed gaze, then closed his eyes as he kissed his cheek in forgiveness. The light gesture made Yuuri's eyes flutter slightly as he leaned into the touch.

Victor's smile vanished from his face. How dare he lay a hand on him?

When the doppelganger doesn't pull away, he openly snarls at him, stepping out of his hideout.

A myriad of expressions flash across the vigilante's face and his henchman. Shock, fear, recognition, sadness... and hate. The latter most proeminent on the twin's features, but nevertheless present on his beloved.

"You." A single word, and yet so much power infused in it and its echo.

Yuuri's eyes pooled with unshed tears that threaten to escape him one minute or another. Victor took a step forward, itching to wipe them away and taste the salt on his fingers.

He wonders, how would the rest of him taste like?

"Stay away from me." Yuuri took a step back and raised his gloved hand, ready to attack at any moment. And yet his fingers shook, as if he were struggling to keep them up after the exhaustion of his battle washed over him.

"But – " Victor raised his own arm, in a fruitless attempt to reach out for him.

"I said STAY AWAY FROM ME." Yuuri yelled, his voice breaking and coming out in pained gasps.

They face into the darkness, pulled back by his companion who glares back at Victor as they disappear in the blink of an eye. Victor can only stare back at their escape.

He'd lost him forever.

 

  1. **In a room with a locked door and barred windows – Chris**

 




The Hikari Fusion Cuisine was a gem on its own, a secret well-kept and hidden within then confines of a colonial house that had since been repainted in black and white, and redecorated to serve its newfound purpose as a restaurant and bar. The place carried an air of anonymity and sobriety to it that always suited Yuuri's simple tastes. The fact that they remained open until late into the night, with little to no one present and offered him discounts due to his identity was an added bonus.

Sometimes celebrity had its perks.

It also helps that he would never be able to face the man awaiting him at home, knowing that the second best Japanese restaurant a few blocks away on the same street... was called Eros.

Yuuri chuckled softly as a waiter came to pour him a cup of green tea, setting the pot on the table and then retreating to the kitchens, not without sending a smile Yuuri's way that he copied. After a good year of coming into this particular restaurant at the wee hours of the morning, everyone knew exactly what the Puppet Master ordered.

“I must say, it's a lovely place. I can see why this would be your favorite restaurant.

Yuuri froze at the sound of a voice disrupting him, coming right in his direction. A tall blond figure, clad in a red and black suit so tight and transparent it was sheerly provocative, and yet elegant as he pushed back the chair before Yuuri and sat down.

“I'm not on duty tonight,” Yuuri sputtered with embarassment, unable to think of a better comeback. If anything, the blond man didn't seem the least unfazed by his rudeness.

“Oh, neither am I! I believe you mistake me, Puppet Master.” With a snap of his fingers he brought the waiter back to his table, but kept his eyes trained on Yuuri as red wine was poured in front of him. Yuuri glanced warily at the waiter, who spared him a small, apologetic look as he all but sprinted back to the kitchen. “Oh, don't worry about him. They're all under my control at the moment, but I wouldn't think of harming a single hair on their pretty heads. Unless...”

Another look around informed him that they were truly, completely alone, the entrance and back door closed and the heat that rose in his cheeks had him remark that the windows were equally barred.

Without a second thought Yuuri stood up suddenly from his chair and made to run, but only managed to stumble into the tables as he felt his lungs giving out. He hissed as he bumped into a chair, and fell to the ground.

“I knew you'd fight. I'm a little dissapointed though, that was rather quick.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Yuuri spat out at another bout of coughing hit him. His eyes widened when crimson liquid hit the hardwood floor.

“Ah, about that. I had the waiter put a special something in your tea. Afraid there is only one antidote to appease your suffering, darling.”

“And that would be?” Yuuri rasps as the last of breath starts to leave him.

Chris kneels so they are face to face, looking drectly at each other. Without missing a bit, he leans over and into Yuuri's personal space, so close Yuuri can feel his breath against his face and smell the fragrance of his lipbalm.

Rapsberry. Explains the color of his lips just as much, he thinks distractedly as said lips press against his own and hands come under his hips to lift him.

“Me.”

 

  1. **Stuck in a hole underground – Minami**




 

It took a lot to scare Yuuri these days. Years trapped into his own madness and crafting his brand of crazy had granted him near immunity to anything that would have once triggered him.

However he remained human, as much as he would wish to deny it on a bad day.

Which was why he was currently trapped underground, and he was thoroughly _not_ enjoying it.

Yuuri was bitterly reminded of the amusement park rides he had never been overly fond off during his childhood, horror tunnels in particular. As he advanced in search of light, with his own torch as his only guide in the dark, his heart clenched painfully at the prospect of what was awaiting him. He treaded on rails, metal and wood filling his vision and extending in the horizon with no hope of a way out.

Above him and to the sides, walls of rock were closing in with every step forward, light growing dimmer and scarce with every step. Stuck here, unsure of how long he would be trapped or how long he'd be on his own, he started to panic, his legs barely holding him up as he kept up.

He was under the city, with no way out. In this moment he felt completely, utterly, totally trapped.

Dread pooled inside him, invading his stomach like acid and threeatening to rise in his chest and throat. His legs burnt from the walk – how long had he been walking, exactly? One minute, five, fifteen, an hour? All sense of time and space felt lost down here, with no reception and no watch to keep him connected to the rest of mortals.

Yuuri clambered out and forward, cursing his bad luck and ability to always end up in the worse situations and place. He was truly desperate to leave, turn back and finally escape this hellhole of a cage. But he knew it to be too late to back down.

Light suddenly fell at the end of the tunnel – or was it truly the end? Yuuri hesitated, stopping on his heels for a moment. He found that he dreaded the light emanating from the tunnel more than he feared from the lack of it.

Heart racing and breathing close to wrecked, Yuuri emerged into the light, shielding his face and putting himself in a fight stance, feeling that the situation called for one. It would never hurt to be prepared.

"You made it!" a high-pitched voice squealed in his ears, startling Yuuri and breaking his concentration.

The owner of the voice, or at least Yuuri assumed him to be, jumped straight into his arms, pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace. Stunned as he was, Yuuri didn't know how to react at the mass of blonde and red hair that had launched itself at him, letting himself be hugged nearly to death.

"Do I... know you?" Yuuri croaked, though he doubted that they had ever crossed paths. He would know for sure.

The boy pulled back and positively beamed, jumping excitedly from his standing place.

"Me? Oh I'm the Dazzling Joker! Hello, nice to meet you Puppet Master!"

"You are probably wondering why I brought you here tonight."

No shit Sherlock, Yuuri almost snapped back, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes at the boy's attitude. Though it was rather.... disturbingly cute, it didn't explain what he was doing here, several feet under the city.

"You," the boy – Dazzling Joker, Yuuri reminded himself – started lowly, as if sharing a secret, "are here to arrest me."

Yuuri didn't even stop himself from gaping this time.

 

  1. **Hand-cuffed to an object of their choice – Yuri**




 

The Nimble Fairy was sharpening his knives when Yuuri regained consciousness, slowly pulling himself together as his sight adjusted to the blinding light above him.

Yuuri tested his arms, trying to reach out for his wrists but found them to be bound and cuffed above him, the metallic bracelet dangling from a hook. His blood ran cold as he took in the range of hooks that surrounded him, all devoid of meat.

For the moment.

His limbs ached, sore from his fight and their current position. His knees barely reached the cement ground, holding onto thin air. Yuuri's soles still burnt from crashing, flying above the ground as he had bolted and danced out of the Fairy's grip and sharp claws, only ducking in time to avoid getting scratched or worse, disemboweled.

They had fought each other teeth and nail. Whoever the man who hid under the white lace mask was, he certainly had given him a run for his money. What the Nimble Fairy lacked in size – and rightfully so, Yuuri had deliberated mid fight, given his nickname – he made up in stamina and weaponry, armed with a set of knives that he brandished as if they were extensions of his body. He was smart too, having managed to elude and come onto him like a wolf taking on his prey. The Fairy had been cunning. Testing him, sensing any potential weakness, circling him and running after him relentlessly, chasing him down until he could finally dig his claws into him and scent him as his own.

And if he didn't hurry up, he feared that he really may become his dinner.

He was beautiful, as the newspapers – and Yuuri himself to a certain extent – often pointed out. A fair blond head, and a lithe body, pale skin and hardened eyes the color of emeralds.

He's not so short anymore, Yuuri reflected, his thoughts going back past a good decade, to a time when he had pictures of him plastered on his wall. They had been few and modest, but honorable enough to sit next to his Ruthless Gold posters.

Maybe he had the wrong person in mind ten years ago.

“You reek of fear.” The Nimble Fairy's words cut through the air as he stroked the blade over the butcher's steel one last time, the chinking sound drifting in the air like a music note. “How do you expect to measure up against any of us?”

Yuuri coughed as the words breached his mouth. "As I have so far," Yuuri replied easily, throat dry from lack of use. "And as I'll keep doing once you let me go."

The sound that built inside the villain and escaped him was halfway between a snort and a cruel laughter, mirrored by the twist of his lips.

Yuri reluctantly had to admit that that pig was good for, well, a pig. But he hadn't let his guard down.

And here they were.

The pig, Yuri will concede, wass the perfect prey. No bones on him, only plump and delicate flesh ripe for him to carve his mark into.

The blond's gaze raked over his slumped form, sizing him up. Yuuri was compelled to straighten his form, if only to measure up to his enemy. The criticism and the analytical look had been hint enough to make him doubt himself.

Butcher steel and knife clattered against each other one last time as Yuri advanced towards him, ready to begin another dance of their own.

"Let's trim some of that fat, piggy."

 

  1. **Tied to a chair – Phichit**




 

Yuuri's first love, against popular belief, hadn't once been the greatest superhero in the world turned rogue. Once, too long ago for Yuuri to properly remember, Yuuri had fallen for a ringmaster.

Yuuri hadn't gone to many circuses when he was a child, but he had seen enough shows to know that maybe, in another life, he wouldn't have minded being part of this world.

Due to Yuuri's shy nature, no one could have possibly imagined him as a performer. And yet as a child he began to envision himself up on a stage, traveing the whole wide world, a horde of followers behind his back. The fantasy of a crowd worshipping him, eyes on him and him only, unable to leave his face as he performed, decked in next to nothing or an outfit that left little to the imagination, always stayed with him long after he had unofficially stepped out of the world of dancing.

And yet at some point nothing he could have done could have erased the memory of one man out of his mind. The ease and confidence with which he juggled rings after rings of metal, strutting before his audience with his artefacts in hand and some of the most dangerous predators hovering behind his back, certainly at the ready to pounce on him at any given moment. To show weakness, even for a split second, would have signed the man's deathwish.

“Did he ever notice me?” Yuuri would wonder after his first night, mind still reeling and full of memories. Could this singular man have ever found him amid the crowd of children and adult, seen his talent reflected in those chocolate eyes and thought “here is a little man I'd like to pass my legacy to”? He knew it to be a ridiculous fantasy, which was partly why he never mentioned it to anyone and soon forgot it alltogether weeks after the circus left Hasetsu. Artists never really saw you when they bowed or sought you out for the show. Their eyes could run through their public, but they never caared enough to linger on this or that person.

Every artists worth his salt needs an audience, and the Ringmaster was no exception.

Which was why he was here, strapped to a chair in the centre of a circle of sand, watching the greatest exhibition of his life unfold before him.

The Banksy of crime, they called him, Yuuri mused as the Ringmaster danced and laughed, whether it be the people of Detroit or the rest of the world. The legend was always on the move, but always leaving traces of himself and his circus in his wake. The children loved him. The adults reluctantly admitted that he had his charms and often partook in his public tricks, even with the knowledge of his deeds clearly encrypted in the back of their minds. People could do so much when sush a lovely, regal-looking man brought forward three bears and treated them as if they were his children, and had them behave the way only puppies would.

Oh, if they only knew... the way the three bears kept their eyes on him and licked distractedly their snout and teeth without looking away made him increasingly nervous.

"Will you devour me, will you not?" Yuuri mentally sang, thinking back of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Would he be as lucky as she were in the end?

"What do you say then, Puppet Master?" The other's voice beamed at him. Yuuri had to resist the urge to mirror his manic, quite contagious grin.

Yuuri simply smiled back, not bothering to wince in spite of his cut lip. "Give me your worst, Ringmaster."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * technically Eros' part isn't their first meeting (or their last for that matter but sshh).  
> * I ain't fucking kidding when I tell you there's a fricking Japanese restaurant called Eros... in Canada: https://www.yelp.com/biz/eros-windsor  
> * you probably noticed it already, but I based my other fic Lost Boys partly on this fic. I'd really appreciate it if you would check it out, especially if you like what makes this fic what it is. There's a surprise at the end that might please you if you like BIYAAMAYD ;)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
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> 
>  
> 
> * just a piece of mind: it's been pointed out and brought to my attention that maybe, just maybe I have an unhealhy relationship with this story. I'm considering putting it under hiatus for a short while until I feel inspired and better enough to continue. Opinions?


	11. A/N - PLEASE READ!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little A/N to give you an idea of what to expect for the next chapters to come.

As you may have noticed, this isn't a new chapter but rather an A/N.

WAIT WAIT DON'T LEAVE JUST YET.

 

*crickets* so, are you still here with us?

…

*sigh* well here goes nothing.

 

So, as you most probably saw this fic was recently updated, much faster than I anticipated. Sadly it has come to our attention that chapter 10 had... very little feedback, both here on AO3 and on tumblr. It's understandable since this remains a fairly small fic, and by now you probably noticed that most of the time the updates are monthly, whereas chapter 10 was written and published a good week after chapter 9. I won't put it past anyone to not notice it.

Now I know that our writing is definitely not the best, and that this fic doesn't make any bloody sense but feedback, even if it's to tear us a new one, is always appreciated. Kudos are nice, but comments are also cherished forever. Even when they are as simple as a smiley.

 

 **allollipoppins:** It has also been brought to our attention that we have indeed reached chapter 10, folks! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

For us, this is quite a step forward. Back when this fic started it was only a short oneshot of 2688 words started on the week of Valentine's Day and published circa March. Now 10 chapters and 32,762 words eight months later, we can honestly say that we've never been prouder of our work. Writing this story was a breakthrough and helped me deal with moments both good and bad, find inspiration, explore my writing style and rediscover my love for dark, twisted stories.

(I also got a cover made on ribbet for BIYAAMAYD which you can find on the first chapter; nothing big, just a demo while waiting to print the whole thing).

 

As the person mostly dealing with the writing part of things, I feel it is on me to tell you that the course of this story may turn out differently during the course of the next months (weeks at best). For many reasons.

 

  * Believe it or not but... we're currently kind of short on ideas for the next chapters. Most of the prompts that were sent to us have been used already, and the multishipping drabbles are just not cutting it at the moment. This AU was born first and foremost due to your contribution, and had kept growing thanks to your ideas and support. So to keep it going, your ideas are always welcome, as silly as they may be to you!




 

  * On the other hand there _has_ been some development concerning this hellfest, folks.

We have a plot.

Yup, you read me very damn well.

We (or rather I, at this point) have a plot to make BIYAAMAYD an actual story with an actual plotline, an actual beginning and maybe an actual end.

  * UPDATE: I'm currently in the middle of writing the general synopsis for what I feel will be a multi-parter (is that even a word?) and I should warn you: this will be dark.
  * It will definitely diverge from the headcanons created by yuuriharemheadcanons and yours truly, but hopefully not too much. While the story will still focus on Yuuri and the harem, the course of the story and the relationships will be a tad different. In fact, it will be more of an entirely different story than just a spinoof or prequel to BIYAAMAYD. Don't worry though, Eros will still be there. But sshh...




 

 

As it is I'm still waiting to run it through the supreme boss and see if there are people interested enough in it for me to create a remix of BIYAAMAYD. So if you are interested, you know what to do.

 

  * I have decided to take part in the NaNoWriMo this year, but I intend to write original fiction in Spanish for my first time. As I'm not sure yet of how things will turn out in view of the schedule, the university classes and exams, etc... I'm not making promises as to whether there will be a chapter published in November.

 

  * _However_. Here is the list of all the ideas I've got planned for October if you happen to like the rest of my writing. More may come, if there is a devil out there:

 

\- a dark, twisted Victuuri fic that will either be a OS or 4-5 chapters. Fair warning: it will feature dubcon/noncon and Dark Victor;

\- a short Victuuri a/b/o. Will definitely imply smut at the very least ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

\- a Victuuri HP AU that I will write first in drabbles or as a 1-5 sentence challenge.

\- a follow-up to Lost Boys (Victuuri; Yuuri/Harem, with an Eros cameo), Victuuri centric. Or the problem with dating a villain when you're supposed to be his worst enemy **and** a civilian;

\- the 2nd chapter of Me llaman bruja (porque puedo levantar cosas sin tocarlas) (Victor/Yuuri/Eros), which I kinda forgot about... sorry ^^'. This one's for you, nailivserenity007, if you are still among us ;)

\- and of course the official version of BIYAAMAYD.




(I'm only realizing it now but damn, that's a lot of Victuuri.) 

 

If none of these ideas appeal to you or you don't see your favorite (crack)ship among them, you can always request. It's _completely free_ and we remain _open-minded_ to your ideas. Nevertheless there are conditions:

  * OS requests should be addressed in the comments if you use AO3, at @allollipoppins if you have a tumblr or on fanfiction.net at @allollipoppins97 (or just look for Lost Boys in the searchbar. You'll find me eventually).



  * if you have nsfw requests, please send them **directly** to allollipoppins. I am mainly in charge of the writing and more comfortable with (dealing with) this type of material. My sidekick is a little uneasy at the idea of writing the often explicit requests sent to us.

  * Kink requests? Same thing, **DO NOT** send them to @yuuriharemheadcanons. The blog is for sfw hcs only, NOT kinks. I can always ask the admin if they can be published on the blog afterwards, but otherwise just don't send them directly to the admin.




 

So, if you ever have an idea crossing your mind, you know where to find us ;)

 


	12. On Christmas my true love(s) gave to me...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is a time to share with your loved ones... even when you don't always understand each other.  
> Or, Yuuri opens his Christmas gifts from the ten very special people in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why post an early Christmas ficlet for you filthy animals mid-hiatus when we're fresh out of Halloween?  
> I guess I just love you too much to help it ;) (I'm turning 20 in a little less than a month; old age makes me very sentimental.)  
> Ok but FOR REAL: there's something very special awaiting you at the end of this chapter, so don't skip it in your hurry to finish, and good reading!

  1. Eros




 

"Nope." Yuuri let his bags drop to the floor, and turned back out of the bedroom. "No. I'm not dealing with this. Not today."

"What?" Eros raised an eyebrow, incredulous, sprawled from where he was on their bed, the sheets hardly covering what little dignity he had. Said dignity being naked, with a big red plastic bow resting on his butt. "I _am_ your Christmas present."

 

  1. Victor




 

Yuuri squinted down at the small, square golden box resting on the palm of his hand, and the adjoined note hanging on the side.

"Something round and gold for my queen ;-)"

If his assumptions were right and he correctly found what he thought of inside, he'd have a heart attack.

The paper came off easily, at the very least. Yuuri took a deep breath and opened the lid.

And almost had a heart attack.

Of course Victor would give him golden condoms and assorted cock rings made of _actual_ gold on his own birthday.

 

 

  1. Yuri




 

The gift was messily wrapped, a crumpled package made of black wrapping paper – was it even wrapping paper? – , duct tape and cat hair.

With a swift movement he tore off the paper, revealing the garment kept inside. A Cheshire Cat apron, complete with frilly black lace and teeth of glitter.

"If you're gonna cook like a loser, you might as well look cool while doing it -_-", the note said.

Huh, Yuuri shrugged, holding it out in front of him, nothing how adjusted the fit was. At least it wasn't a set of knives.

 

  1. Chris




 

Shaking the box made its contents rattle loudly, to the point Yuuri was tempted to throw it out the window. The corresponding tag and lipstick printed on it weren't any more reassuring.

"Name your poison and I'll give it to you, gorgeous ;-* "

Needless to say, Yuuri was immensely relieved when he found a Georges Briard cocktail set inside, shot glasses complete with their engraved black-and-gold skulls and poison names, and not a bomb.

 

 

  1. Phichit




 

A quick analysis tells him enough. The wrapping paper is store-bought and made, perfectly folded at the corners. Yuuri feels a little guilty for tearing it to pieces.

A tricolored, instant polaroid camera seems to wink at him from between the folds. More precisely, a Fujifilm Instax Mini 90 Neo Classic. "To treasure our greatest memories :-) "

How... normal, to be honest. If he weren't so relieved he'd be almost dissapointed.

 

  1. Minami




 

The red polyester pouch, complete with its own golden thread, weights very little in his palm but is still heavy enough to feel suspicious. Out of habit, he holds the bag at arm's length and fiddles with the thread with the other.

A set of dice and a piece of paper fall from the bag. Bending over to pick them up, he reads the words written on the card.

White dice: Lick. Suck. Stroke. Massage. Tickle. Rub

Golden dice: Lips. Ears. Neck. Inside of Thighs. Chest. Privates.

Naturally. "All work and no play would make us very dull boys, right? :-DDDDD "

 

  1. Georgi




 

After almost six years of being friends, Yuuri would definitely know better than to suddenly forget the name and logo of his best friend's clothing brand. But even after six years it doesn't make finding an Aurora gift bag under his Christmas tree any less unsettling.

"Custom-made, because I know how much you value my... homespun gifts :-x."

His cheeks flushed a deep red the moment his fingers touched the silk and spandex stockings inside the paper bag.

... Well he couldn't exactly throw 300$ lingerie out the window now, could he?

 

  1. Seung-Gil




 

His Korean co-worker promptly pushes the bottles into his chest before he can go on holidays. The litre of vodka, with a cute velvet ribbon on top is most welcome. The other bottle, however, is... reluctantly accepted.

Beolddeok ju, Seung-Gil helpfully supplies in his usual monotone voice, making Yuuri almost wish he sounded like a pompous know-it-all; a rice wine infused with herbal medicines and sweetened with pumpkin malt, beautifully topped with a smiling, penis-shaped ceramic face that stares a little too intently at Yuuri.

"For when you're in a creative rut." Seung-Gil precises.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. "You mean when _you_ are in a creative rut."

Seung-Gil merely shrugs. "Isn't that the same?"

 

  1. JJ




 

The moment his eyes had caught the strange pattern of silver lines curled at the tip and printed on a forest green background, he knew exactly who it came from.

It took two delivery men to help him put the packages – yes, packages – inside his apartment. They took up quite a lot of space on the living room floor, so he had no other choice but to move them to the bedroom.

Yuuri barely blinked when the paper revealed its contents: a set of screenprinted portraits of JJ, left side printed in green and black and the right side printed in violet and orchid.

"So you never forget me."

"Oh JJ," Yuuri sighed. "I don't think I could forget you even if I tried."

 

  1. Otabek




 

Otabek stopped him on his way out of the office and asked him if he could follow him. Surprised but curious, Yuuri fell into his steps until they reached the back of the building. Then, like a magician, Otabek pulled a bouquet of poinsettia from underneath his leather jacket, brandishing them wordlessly in front of his equally red face.

Yuuri could have cried from how sweet it was.

 

  1. Bonus: Yuuri




 

Crime doesn't sleep. And neither do Japanese vigilantes with a Christmas spirit.

One can imagine everyone's favorite villains', law officers' and journalist's reaction when they were all presented with a bowl of steaming katsudon on Christmas day, all accompanied with a blood red, heart-shaped card.

"Pull that off one more time and I'll kill you. **Merry Christmas/Joyeux Noël/** **C рождеством/Suk Sarn Varn Christmas/** めりーくりすます **/** 성탄절 잘 보내요 **XOXO**."

They shivered at the sight of the fatidic three words.

(Except for Otabek of course, who received a _"Merry Christmas, you filthy animal."_. Otabek had to be protected from all evil in this world.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hello, everybody, it's been a while, hasn't it? I'm only briefly getting out of hiatus mode to make an announcement:

 

**Yuuriharemheadcanons and myself are organizing a Yuuri/Harem Secret Santa!**

 

Your read that correctly! We are planning a Secret Santa on the hc blog for everyone to participate in! And we'd like to be joined by as many people as possible to make this come true.

 

We are still working on details such as the dates, the exact guidelines and so on, but here is basically the gist of it:

 

  * We have two categories: writing and art.

  * Each person registers for one of the categories via an ask or a submission, indicating:

\- their username

\- their preferred ship involving **anyone** /Yuuri (and I mean ANYONE)

\- what they would like to see/read of this ship (for e.g. _A walk in the park_ , you name it) and what they _**wouldn't**_ like to see (for e.g. _Yuuri and the other person arguing_ ).

  * We sort everyone out in random order and pair you with someone else from the other category.

  * You make something for them based on what they indicate their ship was and their preferences.

  * You send it on the given date!




 

_ **Very important rules:** _

 

  * nsfw content is allowed but if you do submit it **keep it minimal and/or submit a sfw prompt with it**. Chances are your Secret Santa may be uncomfortable with explicit content, and we wouldn't like anyone to feel nervous or pressured because of it.

  * **Underage content – shota, etc – will not be allowed**. Even if the other half of your ship is Yuri Plisetsky, make him older. Friendly reminder that the hcs involving this particular character feature an aged-up Yuri Plisetsky for ethical reasons.

  * **Rape or any non-consensual actions depicted will not be allowed**.

  * **No character/ship bashing will be allowed**. We're all here in the first place because we like to go beyond canon.




 

Further information will be added, updated and republished soon! In the meantime, you can find us at yuuriharemheadcanons.tumblr.com for any information!

 

**Author's Note:**

> Go give some love to my muse @yuuriharemheadcanons  
> Come pelt me in the face or buy me a coffee @allollipoppins


End file.
